Dark Paradise - english version
by SherlockSnape
Summary: Translation of Dark Paradise, my french fanfiction. When Molly leaves Will, his world disintegrates and he makes a decision with grave consequences. Prison break, escape: our Murder Husbands will reveal themselves in all their glory. Season 03 Spoilers.
1. Everytime I close my eyes

**Dark Paradise**

 **I**

 **Everytime I close my eyes**

 **I thank Astrid, my beta.**

* * *

I opened my eyes in the dark. A peek at the clock told me it was three in the morning. I sighed and focused my gaze on the ceiling. Sleep wasn't going to come back. Next to me, Molly slept like a log. Her calm and regular breathing resounded in the quiet room. The night noises from the outside were muffled by the closed window. I threw off the sheet and the blanket, both covered in sweat despite the bitter cold of the winter, and quietly walked out of the room, without bothering to put on a shirt. I walked down the corridor without switching on the lights, my bare feet avoiding the creaking floorboards, and entered the kitchen where soft yips welcomed me. A wet nose rubbed itself against my hand, a bushy tail whipped my naked calf.

"Shh." I whistled gently, to calm dogs.

I bent over the kitchen sink, opened the cold water tap and put my cupped hands under the ice-cold jet before splashing my sweaty face. Then, I raised my head, my hands pressed on the stainless steel edge, my eyes intent on the black night outside the window. Absentmindedly, I blindly seized a glass and filled it, before quenching my thirst. I had been a long time since I'd last dreamed of Florence. But, despite all the protections which I had established, seeing Hannibal again wasn't without consequence. I hadn't changed. I was just… hibernating. Guarded by the sweetness, the understanding and the patience of Molly. Slowly, but surely, she had got me back on my feet. Except that there was nothing to repair. I wasn't broken or fragile, just haunted by the soul of the only person who had really understood me, the one who had shown me another path, another way of seeing the world and helped me reconcile with my internal darkness. Until the break. Until I was too afraid by the voracious passion, by the madness which tied us together, by this need to devour each other to become one. Then, he had given up the most important thing for him, for me. His freedom. So that I would always know where to find him. And for three years, he had waited, while I tried hard to live as if he had never existed. But, my respite ended here.

Molly was still recovering from her wounds. Nevertheless, we had been able to go back home. _Home_. The house where I suddenly no longer felt welcome. Something had broken between us. She hardly spoke to me after the release from the hospital. I knew that she regretted having convinced me to visit Hannibal. She hadn't thought that I would return so different. But, the damage was done now and we would both have to deal with it. There was also Walter, who had been capable of sitting down in front of a baseball match, after he coldly advised me to kill a man and reminded me of this past which I tried to forget since I had met his mother. The boy remained stubbornly silent, sometimes for hours, glued to Molly more than ever. I had the impression that our trio had shrunk to a duet, and I have no longer a place with them. I didn't know how we were going to get over it. Not to mention that the Dragon was still out there. But, it was not an option to go away again, for now. Fuck Jack. He would have to find another lure for his fishing line.

I watched the sun rise, without really feeling the cold which spread goose bumps over my skin, lost between my thoughts which turned obsessively around reminiscences of my nightmare. Then, while Molly and Walter still slept, I silently got dressed and decided to go for a walk with the dogs.

…

When I returned, frozen but a little more clearheaded, the lights had been switched on. The dogs grouped together in front of the door, and while I climbed porch stairs at a run to warm myself, I was surprised that I didn't see Molly opening the door for them to climb in and warm themselves. I made my way, gave some caresses in passing and entered, fighting to keep my balance as the dogs pushed me aside to rush in to the warmth of the house. While they scattered, I stumbled over a suitcase put on the ground near the coat rack, before raising my eyes to the lounge. Molly waited for me with Walter, sitting silently on the sofa. I was afraid of understanding her intentions.

"What are you doing?" I asked with a toneless voice.

"We're leaving." She coldly announced. "I called my sister and she will accommodate us for the time being until I can find something else."

"What? Why?"

"Honey, go to your room, please." She said to her son.

He didn't protest, got up and walked past me without a look.

"Will you explain?" I questioned her, when we ended up alone.

She searched for adequate words for a few seconds, and I tried hard to stay calm while standing.

"Do you know that you speak in your sleep?"

"Excuse me?"

"When we met, you spoke every night. But, I knew that you had lived through difficult things and I didn't take offence at it. Then, your nightmares became scarce, until they disappeared. I thought that we could leave all this behind us and build something together. And it worked. For three years. Three years when I accepted that I would never know everything about you, that there would be always a part of you which would escape me, hidden from me. But, you had the right to have your secret garden and this mysterious side wasn't void of charm. Then, Jack Crawford came. And, God knows as I regret it, I urged you to resume your old job, because I thought above all else of these poor families. I thought that it would have been able to be us. Until it really happens."

"I'm sorry about that. I didn't realize… If I'd known…"

"What is done cannot be undone, Will." She interrupted me. "I wasn't angry with you, but with _him_." And I knew that she didn't speak about the Dragon. "You brought us home and insisted to stay away from the investigation, to never leave us again. But…"

"My nightmares returned." I understood.

She nodded her head, close to tears.

"Most of the time, I don't even understand what you say. But, when you whisper his name in the middle of the night, with this pleading voice… As if you were haunted…"

"What have you done?" I whispered, by guessing that she didn't leave me because of some dreams in which I had no control.

"I wanted to see him. Speak to him. Understand."

A panic wave shook me from head to foot and I was going to interrupt her when she spoke again.

"Don't worry. I didn't have the right to meet him. Doctor Bloom stopped me." A sigh of relief escaped me. "Then, she told me."

"Told what?" I asked. I had a bad feeling.

"Everything." A tear ran down her cheek. "All that you have never told me. All these things you've hidden from me or distorted to make yourself appear as a victim… She told me that you were like him."

"It's not… completely true." I sighed, dropping down heavily on an old armchair, before resting my face in my hands.

"What do you mean?"

"I… It's hard to explain."

"Well, try me. Because Walter spoke to me about this article that he read about you. Now… He thinks that you should kill this freak. He's twelve years old, Will, goddammit!"

"I'm not responsible of what he's doing on the Internet! I don't control my nightmares or what your son does while I'm miles away from here, Molly! It's not me who wrote this article! I would like to understand why you suddenly decided to leave!" I screamed, by raising me.

"Because I feel I don't know you anymore! In fact, I doubt I have ever know you! And I can't live with you anymore while asking myself constantly if he manipulated you or if, on the contrary, you were completely aware of what you did when you killed this man, when you warned him that FBI were coming to arrest him, when you spent your days in his deserted house, plunged into your memories. You crossed the Atlantic Ocean on a fishing boat to find him, for God's sake!" She became enraged, standing up to face me.

Rage shone in her eyes, her hands trembled and her breath was erratic.

"It's not… It's complicated." I faltered. "He developed an unhealthy obsession for me. He persuaded me that I was like him, he's rooted himself so deeply in my mind that when he ran away without me, I… missed him." I tried to explain. "I found him to kill him, Molly. Because I had the impression that as long as he would live somewhere, I would never be at peace. But nothing went the way it was supposed to. I needed months to find his track. I learned things about him. Things which changed everything. I understood how he had become what he is. I forgave him…"

"How could you… After everything he did to you…"

"I realized that I had broken his heart. He did this because he was hurt…"

"Do you even listen to yourself?!" She interrupted me again. "Normal people don't do that when they're hurt! Normal people don't kill for fun!"

"He doesn't kill for fun, Molly. You don't understand him."

She looked at me, shocked.

"Apparently, I don't understand you either. So please, tell me. Why does he do it?"

"For a lot of reasons. He's curious about the human nature, doesn't support the rudeness. Sometimes, his survival instinct compels him to it, when a person unmasks him or knows too much about him. He's not sadistic. He doesn't torture. Fear damages the meat and it's not its purpose."

"Shut up." She stopped me, clearly disgusted. "You speak about him as if his way of being was acceptable."

"Because it is, to me." I murmured, by thinking about my sessions with Doctor Du Maurier. She too had understood certain things, about him and about me. "He's a man of integrity. He always tells the truth, in his way. He's honest, by completely accepting his nature. It's certainly controversial, condemnable, difficult to understand, but it's acceptable. Because he's completely sane and perfectly logical."

"He sent a serial killer to eliminate us, Will! Where is the logic in there? Why would he do that?"

"To claim his rights on me!" I cried, unintentionally.

This conversation became uncomfortable.

"So… She was right." She whispered, after a few seconds, with a toneless voice.

"Who?" I asked, even if I knew the answer.

"Doctor Bloom. I didn't want to believe her, but she was right when she told me that he's in love with you."

I sighed, by closing my eyes. Because I guessed easily the next question. Nevertheless, her words hurt me.

"Are you in love with him too?"

"Don't be ridiculous! I love you!" I answered, by seizing her shoulders.

But she brutally twisted herself free.

"Are you also going to forgive him what he did to us?"

"If that was the case, I wouldn't be there. I would have stayed in Baltimore."

"But you don't deny his feelings for you."

"He doesn't love me… Not in the same way you mean it. He simply wants to be the most important person in my life. He surrendered himself to stay near me and I ignored him for three years. Then, he found an opportunity to get my attention. When he discovered that I had married, he took it badly, because that meant that his power over me had ended, that I had forgotten him. He did that to isolate me, so that I would need him again. When he saw that he had failed, he told me that he was behind it, to see what would happen. That's what he does, Molly. He causes events and waits to see the result."

She stared at me, open-mouthed, for a long second. Then, she raised her hands in sign of abandonment.

"I need time to think." She claimed.

But I could see the determination in her eyes and I knew that she wouldn't come back. She had said it to spare me and so that I would let her go. Resigned, I nodded silently, and she called Walter, put the suitcases in her car and disappeared at the end of the road.


	2. No remedy for memory

**II**

 **No remedy for memory**

 **I thank Astrid, my beta. She makes some very good work.**

* * *

Only hours later, I finally emerged from my inertia. I hadn't been able to keep Molly here, and now no argument could ever bring her back. But I didn't expect to do nothing either. Alana had interfered in my relationship and she had screwed up everything. She owed me explanations. In an instant, my decision was made. It took me half an hour to prepare food for the dogs and to give them enough water to last until the next day. Then I put on my coat, tied my scarf around my neck and pulled on my gloves in quick, twitchy moves, almost trembling, before rushing out to get in my car and steer it towards Baltimore.

...

The road seemed to go on forever. And paradoxically, it took on the qualities of a dream. I drove absentmindedly, only paying enough attention to what I was doing so as to not end up in a ditch. My mind remained focused on what I was going to say to Alana. She had changed so much too. Her relationship with Hannibal had damaged her far more than anything he did tο me. In hindsight, I imagined it was a fate he had planned for her because she had dared to covet me. And perhaps, to make me suffer. All the warmth that had characterized her when I had initially met her, had been extinguished, giving way to a cold, vengeful and calculating woman, who enjoyed having Hannibal under her control.

...

Lost in my thoughts, I arrived at my destination and parked behind the hospital, before heading towards the entrance with determined steps. The security guard recognized me immediately, of course, but tried to stop me.

"I've come to see Dr. Bloom." I informed him, passing him by.

"She is busy with a meeting in her office." He told me, standing up.

"Does this meeting go by the name of Margot?" I asked, just in case.

And the expression of his face was answer enough.

"I see. So essentially she has time to see me. I know the way, thank you." I concluded, before pressing the call button of the elevator.

The doors opened and I rushed into the elevator and selected the floor. The wait was not long, the device was modern, and a few seconds later, I walked down the corridor, anger rising as I approached her desk. I was about to knock, when I heard a fragment of a conversation through the door. Words that caused me to momentarily freeze.

"Are you sure it won't show in the autopsy?"

I did not know what they were discussing, but my stomach coiled in anticipation. So I stayed quiet, and listened.

"I'm sure, Margot. Anyway, it's already started. It'll look like a heart attack and he'll carry our secrets to his grave. It'll be like pulling a thorn from my foot. I've played enough games with that bastard. "

Strangely, I kept an Olympian calm. My heartbeats slowed, my muscles relaxed. I knew _who_ they were talking about. But I had to understand what had already begun and would not be seen in the autopsy. I concentrated, listening intently when I heard the squeak of badly greased wheels approaching. A meal-cart appeared on the corner, pushed by a man I had seen at some previous point. Trays for patients were resting on stainless steel shelves. A terrible feeling seized me by the throat. The employee passed beside me, like in slow motion, nodding to me as he passed me by. _It's already started_. I made a decision in a split second.

I trailed behind him at a respectable distance, following his route, remaining silent at all costs, hoping that Alana and Margot would not choose this moment to leave the office. Pursuing him on the balls of my feet I crept up from behind and clamped a hand over his mouth, coiling my arm around his chest and tripping him so I could drag him through the nearest door. It turned out to be some kind of tech room, judging by the wiring and electrical control cabinet. The man in my arms struggled forcefully. I squeezed his chest harder, blocking his nose and mouth with my hand until he gradually went limp before I put him on the floor. After entering the corridor again, I seized the meal-cart and hid it inside the tech room. As I closed the door I could finally breathe.

The impulse had been compelling and sudden. Now I had to think about what I would do. Realizing that the man would not wake up again, judging by his wide unseeing eyes and his motionless chest, did absolutely not help me think clearly. But if the meals were not distributed in the next few minutes, that would be noticed, so I didn't have much choice.

Once again, panic eluded me, held at bay cold calm. I realized that it was the kind of detached serenity that characterized Hannibal. I had only felt it a few times, and always in his presence. So, without asking myself more questions, for now, my body started moving. I hastened to undress the employee, before doing the same for myself and putting on his work uniform. It included a cap. It reassured me and I firmly pulled it on to my head. I'd just have to avoid showing my face to the cameras, which were conveniently absent from certain corridors, and everything would be fine. When I was ready, I left the door ajar to sneak a peek at the corridor to assure myself that there was still no one there. Then I pulled the meal-cart out into the open to take a stroll.

...

My knowledge of the facility layout served me well, and I arranged my route so I wouldn't meet anyone. I quickly made the rounds of the residents. Of course, some were surprised to see a new face and tried to intimidate me, but the uniform and my deliberately evasive attitude prevented them from recognizing me. I had creeping doubts, what if some of them were reading the papers? I might not have been a huge celebrity, but I should still stay on my guard.

When I faced the door of Hannibal's cell with no possibility of retreat, my panic grew, until it finally broke the surface of my inner peace. Because, of course, he would recognize me immediately and not understand. I'd have to act fast, but without sounding like anything was out of the ordinary as the area was monitored by multiple cameras. I didn't doubt that Alana, and possibly Margot, were in front of a screen, observing the scene with great interest, eager to see their plan succeed. I could not just go in there and try to send a message with gestures or words. I cursed myself for not having thought of it earlier, but when my eyes fell on a paper towel I had an idea. I slowed down and stopped in a blind spot. After feverishly searching for a pen in the many pockets of the uniform with my shaking hands, I quickly wrote some words on the towel. "Be ready tonight. Don't eat anything." Then I put the piece of paper on the tray, in an eye-catching position, for him to see it immediately, and I walked into his cell.

I pushed through the door, forcing myself to correct my posture and lower my head when I figured I was in front of the camera. I dared to take a sweeping look at the spartan cell, void of any comforts - his punishment for having contacted the Dragon - and I stopped two meters away from the glass that separated us. Our eyes met and I mentally thanked his intelligence and self-control, when his only reaction was a miniscule stiffening of his posture, but he said nothing and stood motionlessly. A voracious curiosity shone through his eyes and he smile imperceptibly. He waited patiently, amused by the much unexpected turn of the situation.

Still in a heavy silence broken only by the creaking of the cart, I planted myself in front of the trap, opened it and placed the tray there. The plate threatened to slip, but I managed to adjust it and put it in without damage, before walking backwards up to the door without turning my back on him. When I was far enough away to escape the camera, he advanced towards his meal, opened the trap on his side and froze as he saw my message. He showed no reaction, simply leaving the tray where it was, before returning to sit in a corner of his cell. He pretended to not want to eat. From a discreet nod, he informed me that he understood, and I left the room, after one last meaningful look.

What was I supposed to do? I wondered, while retracing my steps and the panic really threatened to take me over. As quickly as possible, I went back to the technical room, relieved to see no one there, except for the corpse. The layer of dust in that room had told me that nobody would visit it in the near future. I turned away from the body and rested my hands and forehead against the rough concrete of the wall. It felt cool against my skin and I closed my eyes, sensing the beads of perspiration recede from my forehead and my breathing go back to normal. Clarity returned gradually and I realized my actions had been dictated by one single fixed idea: Hannibal was not allowed to die by any hand other than mine. This privilege was mine. Alana wanted to deprive me of it, and she would pay for it. But later. For now, I had to decide what my next steps would be. While he was locked up, I couldn't protect him forever. Then I thought back to the message I had left him, and realized that I had chosen to help him escape at the same time I wrote the note. _Be ready tonight._ I had to devise a plan.

I took the time to put my thoughts in order. I was already inside the building, without anyone knowing ... or almost. The security guard had seen me arrive, but not go back. This would eventually seem suspect. But he also knew that I was intimate with Alana. So it would not rouse his suspicions for a few hours. He'd believe I just had a lot to say her. The most urgent issue was to get rid of the corpse. The man was innocent. Wrong place at the wrong time. To have him before me confused my mind because I had felt no satisfaction from killing him. He had not attacked me, he wasn't a killer whom I chased. I didn't have the consolation of telling myself that he would end up in Hannibal's kitchen. He was only collateral damage with which I would have to live. Fortunately, I didn't know him personally.

In a corner of the small room was a large metal cabinet. I opened it and saw that it was almost empty. Satisfied, I removed three shelves and leaned over the body to move my hands under his armpits. I lifted him clumsily, before dragging him into the closet and threw my clothes rolled into a ball. Then I closed the doors and locked it.

The absence of the body already allowed me to breathe more freely. I backed up to the wall and let myself slide slowly to the ground, before resting my face in my hands. I had to figure this out quickly. My eyes fell on the cart I couldn't get rid of. I'd have to find a new use for it. The uniform served me well too. I still had a few hours before taking action. It was time to think about how I was going to get Hannibal out of here without anyone noticing it immediately, to allow us to distance ourselves as far as possible. My car would be the next step, of course. It was already in the parking, behind the building. I would have to choose a provisional base where we could get a change of clothes for him and for me, and plan our next move. I temporarily selected Wolf Trap, as the destination. My old house. I couldn't sell it, and I certainly couldn't live in it. It had been abandoned since I'd moved in with Molly.

Since they wouldn't immediately suspect me to be the instigator of this escape – and hoping that in the chaos, the security officer would forget to mention my presence earlier in the day – they would not come looking for Hannibal in Wolf Trap. First, they'd search his place, they'd certainly question Bedelia, try to find any trace of the Dragon because he'd be the prime suspect; Hannibal's biggest fan. Meanwhile, my breakup with Molly would be the perfect excuse to keep me out of it. The timing was almost too perfect and I wondered for a second what would have happened if she hadn't left me this morning. How would I have reacted to Lecter's death? Why hadn't I just called Jack the moment I found out what Alana was planning?

The impulse that had pushed me kill the man whose body was now resting in the closet, it was a sudden and intense pull that hadn't let me realize what I was doing until it was done. I studied my hands for an intense minute. Murderer's hands. Molly had been right: she didn't know me. I was not even sure I knew myself now. I had calmly killed a man to claim my right to control the life and death of a cannibalistic sociopath who had manipulated me, made me sick and bordering on crazy and then locked me up here. Then, as he'd finally released me, he'd convinced me I was like him, only to abandon me. He had tried to kill me several times, but he had also saved me repeatedly, defended my interests, and protected my dignity. He had told me I was his family and that he would do anything for his family. Maybe he actually loved me. In a twisted way.

All of this however, would not prevent me from cutting his throat at the first opportunity.


	3. I can feel you touching me

**III**

 **I can feel you touching me**

Waiting in that tiny room until the evening within one meter of a corpse, which fortunately remained locked into the closet, was no cakewalk. And my body was going rigid from being confined to the small room. With my relatively good plan for this less than ideal circumstance I decided to venture out of the room to check if Alana and Margot had left. I would have to wait until the building was empty, with the exception of the reduced night staff, to put my plan into action. I walked to the corner of the hallway and then peeked at the office door, only to find that it was closed, no light radiating from its threshold. I still had to be certain, so I snuck up to the door and pressed my ear to the surface. There was no sound. Carefully I turned the handle. Locked. The coast was clear.

I returned to the tech room, opened the cabinet and looked at the circuit breakers that controlled the lights and cameras. Once I had located the correct one I flipped it and found myself in darkness. I only needed to wait for the guard and it wasn't long until I heard heavy steps approaching in the corridor. I could see the glare of the flashlight near the threshold and I held my breath. The door opened, and without giving the guard time to notice me, I grabbed his jacket and threw him forcefully against the wall. The man had been stronger than I thought and wasn't disoriented by the shock, instead he drew his weapon as I was following up on the initial assault. By reflex, I grabbed the barrel of his Glock, to push it away, and suddenly the gun went off. The detonation, deafening in the silence that had preceded it, made my ears ring. I clapped my hands to them, recoiling in shock. Before me, the guard collapsed, moaning. His Maglite fell to the ground, flickered once and then steadily illuminated the scene. At my feet, a pool of blood was spreading from the still body, and gun powder burns around the damage to the chest testified to the close range of the shot.

This hadn't been part of my plan. I waited for panic - my old enemy - to arrive, but she did not come. My heartbeats slowed down and my mind stilled, the heady smell of blood filled the room and I took a deep breath before exhaling. I could not stay here. The altercation would have been heard on this floor. With a steady hand I picked up the flashlight and proceeded in accordance with my plan. Quickly I felt along the belt of the guard until I found his key ring which I pocketed before rushing to the cabinet to flip the circuit breaker of the lights, but not the cameras. I then grabbed the cart, dragging it with me towards the laundry which I had spotted earlier while distributing the meals. Looking down on my hands, I noticed blood on the hand which I'd used to push away the guard's weapon, and on the sleeve. Looking around in a frenzy, I pulled my shirt out of my pants and wiped my hands on the hem before I tucked it back in and rolled up the sleeves to hide the stains there. At the same time, I could hear rapid footfall growing louder in the corridor. I firmly grabbed the handle of the cart and moved forward as naturally as possible, when a young woman appeared before me.

"What was that noise?" She asked me, worried.

"What noise?" I replied without hesitation.

"Didn't you hear anything?" She asked, puzzled.

"No."

"But ... I could have sworn …"

I simply looked at her, as if she was talking nonsense. And the fear of appearing ridiculous dissuaded her from insisting.

"Forget it. It was probably nothing." She finally concluded before watching me carefully. "Are you new? I haven't seen you before."

"Yes. This is my first day." I improvised.

"Is that so? They never informed the night shift of the change." She sighed. "It's as if we didn't exist. All because we work while _Madame_ sleeps." She added. And I knew she was talking about Alana.

"It's not false." I did not know what to answer to that.

"Anyway, good luck on your first night shift. You'll see, it's hard at first, but then it becomes routine." She added, becoming suddenly familiar.

"Thank you ..." I said, shaking my head, before watching her badge. "... Isabelle. "

"You're welcome ... Richard ..." She looked at me doubtfully and I feared for a moment that she understood. "It's funny, there's already a Richard in the day shift." She remarked.

"Oh yes?" I innocently replied. "It's ... funny, indeed. I have to go or I'll fall behind my schedule."

"Yes, of course. I don't want you to get fired because of me. I know, I talk too much. Good night, Richard. If you need me, I'll be in the kitchen, in the semi basement." She told me, believing I would find the information useful.

And I understood that she was hitting on me. I decided to play the game because I was in a hurry.

"I will remember. Perhaps later." I concluded before continuing my journey.

"See you later." She sighed.

Then she turned around and I was finally able to breathe more freely.

Adrenaline pulsed violently in my veins, preventing me from panicking, and quickly, I found the door to the laundry and opened it as if I had every reason to be there, in case it there would be someone inside. Relieved, I found that the room to be empty. To perfect my cover, I hastily stacked towels and sheets on my cart, before emerging and heading straight for Hannibal's cell. I did not have time to pretend to go to the other residents.

...

I entered the room and closed the door behind me, before turning his way to approach the glass. He was waiting for me in the middle of his room, curiously patient. I wasn't planning to speak to him, but he didn't leave me the luxury of silence. He inhaled deeply through his nose and smiled.

"You just killed someone."

It was not a question. Thus, I did not answer and advanced on the door of his cell.

"You smell of gunpowder, hemoglobin and fear." He listed and, still without speaking, I grabbed the keychain, searching for the right key.

"I wasn't planning to." I justified myself, without being able to prevent myself.

"Of course." He nodded, sarcastically. "Now that you're guilty of murder to get me out of here, are you going to tell me why?"

"Later." I snarled, finally managing to open the lock after several tries.

He exited the cell without needing prompting, and I involuntarily took a step back, a reaction that didn't escape him, but he didn't comment on it.

"What are we doing?" He asked.

Without answering, I put the load of the cart on the floor, before unfolding a sheet to cover the metal surface. The cloth was almost reaching to the ground. Then I lifted a panel and asked him to hide. He said nothing, but raised an eyebrow and gave me this look where I could read "really, Will?" as if he had spoken aloud.

"I'm making do with what I've found, so crouch down below and stay quiet." I replied, all out of patience.

He looked up at the top of the door and a sigh of exasperation escaped me.

"And I cut the cameras." I added.

"Obviously." He sneered, with a smirk.

He then consented to do what I asked him and balled himself up on the lowest shelf. I covered him, piling towels and sheets on top, before exiting.

...

I pushed the cart towards the service elevator amidst a deafening silence, punctuated by the sound of my footsteps and annoying squeaking wheels. A persistent ringing in my right ear wore on my nerves. I wanted only to get away faster, but to run would be stupid. Sweat poured in rivulets down my back, my neck, my armpits. The cart was heavier, but I still had to give the impression it weighed nothing and therefore pushed myself to keep up the illusion. The elevator finally appeared at the end of a corridor and I entered it with relief when the doors opened. The truth is that I had planned to simply walk out through the front door. It was risky, but my knowledge of the building did not extend to emergency exits. But as we descended to the ground floor, I suddenly remembered Isabelle's information. The kitchens. In the semi basement. There would certainly be windows facing the outside. This kind of installation was always necessarily ventilated. Yes, this idea was much better. When the elevator opened into the hall, I pressed the button -1 before remembering too late what I was going to find there. Or rather who.

As I feared, the doors opened directly into the large kitchens for convenience. As the hour was late, the place was devoid of the usual bustle and excitement. But, as promised, Isabelle was there, doing the dishes. At the sound of the elevator, she turned around, and from the look she gave me, I understood that she had hoped to see me. As calmly as possible, I forced my face to produce a smile that I hoped seemed sincere even though I had decided to take advantage of her crush on me.

"Finally, I finished. I had a few minutes of quiet so I told myself that I was going down here."

"That's nice." She chuckled, wiping her hands on a cloth before placing it on the work surface."... Do you want a drink?" She asked me, heading towards a big fridge.

I had to find a way to get her to leave, and quickly. But as I tried to think fast, while maintaining a relaxed attitude, the alarm suddenly started blaring from the speakers. I reflexively looked up as she jumped violently.

"What is going on?" I roared over the screeching noise.

"I don't know! I hope that it's not a patient who escaped!" She answered me, frightened. "Let's find the security guard!" She suggested, clutching my arm.

"No!" I replied, removing her hand from me. "Go ahead. I ... I will stay here in case someone will come down here to hide. You're right, this is perhaps an escape."

She seemed to weigh the pros and cons, before finally deciding to rush to the elevator. The situation would soon be out of control. Someone on the upper floors had either found the guard's body or noted Hannibal missing. We had to hurry.

The second the doors closed, I lifted the sheet and released my charge. At a glance, I spotted the line of narrow windows, high on the wall, as I had imagined, while Hannibal stretched his legs, before throwing an annoyed look at the speaker that still blared. He quickly followed my reasoning and without waiting, climbed up on the supplies to reach a window and open it. Fresh air from outside immediately rushed into the kitchen and I shivered. He was about to slip through the opening, when the elevator opened again. Isabelle rushed over to me, speaking in a broken voice, full of panic.

"Richard! The guardian ... Up there! He is…"

She froze when she saw Hannibal. Her look traveled from him to me, then to him again, and she finally understood. A second, a knife lying on the work surface. A blink of the eye later, it was in my hand, bloodied. In between, it had cut her throat in one precise movement. Her eyes widened and she clapped her hands over the wound. Crimson liquid flowed abundantly between her fingers, an inarticulate sound left her open mouth. And I finally found it again. The instinct. The impulse that guided my arm. The satisfaction and quietude. I coldly looked on as she collapsed on the white tile floor, rapidly staining it red. The sound of the alarm faded in my mind, the colors coming out more vividly. I felt every atom of my being with extreme lucidity, the roughness of the knife in my hands as an extension of my body. Hannibal appeared in my field of vision, approached me gently, then grabbed my wrist, caressing it with his thumb before take the knife. It was our first physical contact for three years. A shock wave went up my chest and shook me to the bones. He took the towel, properly wiped the blade of our fingerprints, before sliding it into the dishwasher and throwing the cloth in the bin without a glance at the young woman who was convulsing on the ground, emitting disgusting gurgles. In a split second, I thought I saw Abigail in her place. But I rejected the vision by shaking my head. A gentle hand caressed my neck, its warmth radiated down my back, my chest, my skin and filled my lungs. And calm descended on me again.

"Three murders in one day. I confess to being somewhat surprised." He whispered in my ear.

"How did you know that there were three?" I asked him, turning my face towards him.

"Richard has not claimed his uniform." He smirked.

He climbed back up on the supplies and raised himself on to the windowsill. His upper body disappeared outside along with his long legs, and then it was my turn. I stuck my head through the window and the cold stung my cheeks. Two firm hands slipped under my armpits and dragged me out on to the garden lawn that surrounded the building, before helping me up. I glanced around and spotted my car, only a few meters from us. Did premonitions exist? I wondered, running towards the vehicle. I hurriedly found my keys that I had pocketed earlier and opened the door of the driver's side, before sliding myself behind the wheel. Hannibal sat down on my right slamming his door, while I was turning the ignition and shifting into drive. Without further ado, I pushed the gas and the car skidded on gravel. I shifted to the second gear, then the third and raced to the entrance without slowing down. Nobody stood in our way, they were probably too busy with the three corpses inside. The gate opened when the bumper crashed into it without too much damage, and the tires bit into the asphalt in a shrill squeal. A minute later, we had joined the traffic on the public road, watching the silhouette of the hospital diminish in the rearview mirror.


	4. Your soul is haunting me

**IV**

 **Your soul is haunting me**

I drove fast. My hands desperately clung to the steering wheel while I tried not to exceed the speed limit. This really was not the time to get arrested. On my right, Hannibal looked at the road straight ahead.

"Where are we going?" He asked, breaking the heavy silence in the overheated interior of the car.

"You know very well, so don't try to make conversation." I rebuffed him.

He did not take offense.

"Are you sure it's a good idea?"

"Maybe you have a better one?" I answered.

"One. But I'd prefer to wait and see what you'll do." He answered, comfortably sinking a little deeper into his seat.

"Obviously." I whispered.

It couldn't be any other way.

...

Some time passed, without him attempting further discussion. The tension between us was becoming palpable, when suddenly the ringing of a phone tore through the silence, almost making me lose control of the vehicle. As I steadied our course, Hannibal did not move. But seeing that I was not attempting to answer, he spoke again.

"It cannot be my phone, because I have none."

And then I remembered having pocketed my own, with my wallet and my keys, before locking my clothes in the cabinet with Richard's body. Without taking my eyes off the road, I searched my pockets with one hand, not letting go of the wheel until I found the device.

"It's Jack." I mumbled, more to myself than to inform my passenger.

Adrenaline coursed through my veins again, but to not answer would be suspect. I pressed the green button and glued the phone to my ear.

"Jack." I simply said.

In a calm and concise voice, he summed up what I already knew. I pretended to listen without interrupting him before feigning surprise.

" _Where are you?_ " He asked me.

I had to improvise, and as any good lie is always composed of a certain percentage of veracity, I decided to go for a half-truth.

"Nowhere in particular. Molly left me this morning." Hannibal winced, but I paid him no attention. It was complicated enough to drive and think simultaneously. "I've been driving around aimlessly. I needed some air. And, to be honest, I would appreciate if you'd stay out of this."

" _You do know he's gonna come for you, right?_ " He warned me.

"I will worry about that when I have him in front of me." I replied, inflexible. "Molly and Walter are with her family, there's nobody home. Besides, if someone could come and take care of the dogs ..."

" _Are you fucking kidding me?_ "

"I don't know how long I'm gonna be gone, Jack. You can do that for me."

" _I didn't mean that, Will! I'm talking about your lack of interest in the case! He killed three employees, for Christ's sake!_ "

"Do you know how he did it?" I preferred to ask, to stop this verbal duel and collect some information.

" _The early evidence suggests that he had a partner in crime. Perhaps the guard, since he was the only one with the keys. The other two were certainly in his way. The uniform of the man, Richard Frost, was stolen and replaced with civilian clothes. The accomplice would have disguised himself to go unnoticed or, if he was the security guard, he would have given the uniform to Hannibal, for the same reason. The clothes we found are at the lab along with the guard's weapon. We are still looking for the knife that was used to kill the young woman. We are spoiled for choice in kitchens. This bastard even took the time to do the dishes before going out the window. We will know more soon, I think._ "

I followed the flow of information, both positive and negative, realizing that I would not stay above suspicion much longer. My DNA would be on my clothes, my fingerprints on the Glock. I had been careless while executing my design. But I would be forgiven, wouldn't I? I was not a experienced killer! Unlike Mr. Smirk. I had to end this conversation quickly.

"Keep me informed. I'll let you know when I will be ... " I glanced at Hannibal " ... inclined to come back. "

Jack sighed.

" _I'm sorry about Molly. You should try to talk to her. I am sure that the situation is not irreversible._ " He said awkwardly.

"Yeah ... I will see. I'm driving, I have to hang up." I cut him off, while our location still would not betray our destination.

" _See you later and be careful._ "

I hung up without replying and opened the window, before throwing my phone outside. I vaguely heard the noise of the device hitting the road, then closed the window quickly to keep out the cold. Once they'd realized the extent of my involvement, they would use the GPS position on my phone so I could not keep it around. I also ought to change cars as soon as possible. Still silent, Hannibal pressed his head against the window and remained focused on the landscape. He made no comment during the rest of the journey, as if he was plunged into his thoughts.

...

When the tires hit the dirt road that led to Wolf Trap, Hannibal seemed to come out of his lethargy. He sat up in his seat and I peered into the night pierced by the headlights, to finally see my old home. I parked a few meters from the entrance and went out without delay, before climbing the porch and opening the door.

Inside, the cold air smelled musty with dust, but the familiar outlines of some furniture that I had left behind immediately reassured me. Behind me, Hannibal walked in, and I lit a lamp and focused on a dresser where some of my clothes still remained. While being fully aware of his presence in my back, I hastily rummaged through the drawers to find what I wanted, before giving it to him with a certain amount of sadistic glee: an old red plaid shirt and jeans that had seen better days. He froze, his look traveling between my face and the clothes hanging out of my hand. A corner of his upper lip slightly raised in an expression of disgust and I swallowed quickly, before clearing my throat to stifle the giggle that threatened to well up.

"I have nothing better to offer you." I told him. "We cannot linger here. You know the way to the bathroom." I added, pushing the clothes at him without asking his permission.

He sighed and went to the bathroom. When he disappeared, I hurried to look for something to dress myself in, before undressing. In underwear, biting cold made me shiver and I hurried to put on pants before returning a drawer in search of a belt. Then I saw a shadow out of the corner of my eye, and jumped involuntarily. Hannibal stood in the doorway, one shoulder leaning against the doorframe, his eyes fixed on me. Heat invaded my cheeks while I wondered how long he had been looking at me, and I suddenly felt the need to cover myself. I gave up the idea of finding something to keep the jeans from sliding off my hips and snatched up a white shirt and a gray sweater, before swiftly pulling them on. It was only then that I took the time to observe him more carefully. And I wanted to strike him. Because apparently, no getup, no matter how hideous, was capable of fully erasing his naturally imposing presence. The unbuttoned sleeves were rolled up on his forearms, two buttons were open at the neck and in the back the shirt fell slightly too low around his narrow hips. The seams of the shoulders were stretched by his bulk, which was wider than mine. He looked like a lumberjack about to go to work. A bourgeois lumberjack, certainly, but still. Despite my best efforts, I couldn't find him ridiculous.

"What is our next destination?" He suddenly asked me, while I put shoes on to give an impression of composure.

"You ask that like we would run away together somewhere."

Without answering, He gave me a small smile which persuaded me, that indeed, he really thought of it. And I became very angry. In two steps, I was on him, grabbed his collar and pinned him to the nearest wall.

"Do you really think I imagine myself sunbathing on a Brazilian beach with you? After what you did to Molly and Walter. That you attack me and that I forgive you, it's my problem. But they have nothing to do with it." I snarled, a few centimeters from his mouth. "The next step? You are going to lead me to the Dragon, since you _know_ who he is. And when I get rid of him, I'll deal with you." I added, crushing him a little more against the wall.

His smile became more pronounced, as if the perspective delighted him.

"I look forward to seeing which one of you two will be victorious, and how you plan to deal with me, Will," he whispered.

The concealed allusion was only fueling my anger, and my hands squeezed up around his throat.

"Last time I checked, I wasn't gay, Hannibal."

"Neither was Alana" He scathingly replied, without missing a beat.

"It has nothing to do with it. Nobody can really blame her for not wanting another man to touch her, after you" I spat, tightening my grip.

"Maybe she's afraid of never finding a better lover somewhere else..." He articulated with difficulty.

And I released him abruptly, before moving back, not feeling the heat of his body against mine anymore.

"No ..." I said, opening a cupboard to take out a large bag. "You're many things, but certainly not someone who brags openly about anything." I opened the zipper with a snap. "You say that just to provoke me, manipulate me. But it won't happen." I continued, stuffing extra clothes into the bag with angry movements.

He pushed off from the wall, before adjusting his clothes and rubbing his neck.

"And what will you do next?"

"Next? I would find out a way to blame it all on you. You will not be there to challenge it. And I think that nobody will blame me for having freed the world from Hannibal Lecter." I concluded before pushing him aside, to enter the bathroom

Haphazardly, I threw toiletries into the bag, with the back of my hand. Toothbrush, toothpaste, disposable razor and shower gel. Then I turned to a cabinet behind me to take two towels before closing the bag and hoisting it onto my shoulder.

"There's no evidence linking me to the murders of the hospital employees. Unlike you. And you know that very well." He told me, while I passed in front of him to head for the front door, turning off the light in the process.

"I would just say that you forced me to kill them, to get you out of there." I replied, standing still by the door.

"And how would you explain your presence? How did I force you to open my cell, Will? Your story doesn't add up. You'll end your life in prison."

"And what should I do, according to you?" I smirked, turning to him.

"Let me help you." He whispered in the darkness.

An incongruous laughter shook my shoulders and I couldn't control it. But it was not sincere.

"Help me?" I repeated, between two jolts. "You're really imagining this Brazilian beach scenario will happen, don't you?"

"I was thinking Argentina. But we still have a little time to think about it." He dared to answer.

" _Us_? But, there is no _us_ , Hannibal, dammit!" I became enraged. And my voice echoed in the empty house.

He was silent for a few endless seconds.

"Very good. I will lead you to Francis." He agreed. And it took me a while to understand who he meant.

Without adding anything, as if he had temporarily abandoned the idea of predicting what would happen next, he passed me on his way to the exit, opened the front door and rushed into the dark night. Silently, I followed him.


	5. No one compares to you

**V**

 **No one compares to you**

 **Notes :** Sometimes, strange things happen when I'm writing. The characters take control and I become their instrument. That is what happened with this chapter.

Thanks to Astrid for her valuable help.

* * *

Our new vehicle smelled of mud and gasoline. It was an old SUV that we had found on the parking lot of a supermarket. Perfect for staying discrete. We had just left a gas station where we'd fuelled up and bought a cap for Hannibal, with the cash I had left. The hat pulled down over his head made him look younger. The subterfuge was not very subtle, but I was hoping it would be enough if we ran into a roadblock. I also gave him a khaki jacket which I kept at all times in my trunk, just in case. The set really made him look like a hunter now. However, this left me with a simple sweater on my back and the heating was not as effective as that of my own car. Not to mention that car was about as sealed as a sieve. And I shivered from the draft, while the minor road that I had chosen scrolled past the windows.

After a few miles, Hannibal wordlessly undid his safety belt to remove his jacket, before leaning over me and wrapping it over my shoulders. I leaned forward to facilitate his handling without taking my eyes off the road. I don't know why I let him do it. I think I was just tired, exhausted emotionally as much as physically, and I preferred to wrap up myself in the thick and warm fabric which held his scent. I closed my eyes for a split second and had the impression of having his arms around me. Then, without comment, I continued to drive towards the address that he had given me.

I don't know how he found it. But knowing the name and personality of the man must have helped. He spoke only to give me directions, as if he had decided temporarily to leave me in peace, and I finally parked near a mansion made of rough stones with rounded towers. It seemed like a chapel. We got out of the car and made the rest of the way on foot, in the dark.

On top of a staircase with a central wrought iron railing, under an impressive arch, there was a wide front door. Silently, we walked up stairs to the heavy door decorated with stained-glass windows. Through a window with drawn curtains, the dim light of a lamp pierced the dark night, irrefutable proof of his presence.

I simply reached out with my hand rang the doorbell. I saw Hannibal skulk off to conceal himself in the shadows. He wanted to play. So be it. There would be only the Great Red Dragon and the Lamb tonight.

A shadow loomed behind the glass panes. A shadow that seemed gigantic, for a second, before taking the outline of a masculine silhouette.

"Who's that?" Asked a cavernous, deep voice, as if the fire was burning in his throat.

The voice of the Dragon.

"Will Graham." I replied, putting my hand on the door, as if to feel his presence.

The glass appeared to vibrate under my palm. Then finally, the door opened to make way for Francis Dolarhyde dressed in a silk dressing gown. I immediately recognized the man and the power that emanated from him. I could almost see the smoke coming out of his nostrils. I knew his strength, I had been able to confront it when he had violently pressed me against the wall of the elevator, before throwing me to the ground. So when he moved aside without a word to let me in, my whole body tensed as I passed him. The stifling heat radiating off him enveloped me and I took off my jacket before entering a large living room. The ticking of a small clock, ancient tapestries, master paintings, brick, wood, books, rich decoration, a large Louis XV sofa on which I dropped my jacket, before turning towards him.

The Dragon's Den. _Abandon all hope, ye who enter here._

He took a step toward me.

"You came to kill me."

His hand grabbed the belt of his dressing gown and pulled to untie the knot.

"You want to face the Dragon. I don't know how you found me but you'll understand that I cannot let you out of here alive."

The flowing fabric slid over his broad shoulders and pooled on the ground without a sound, as he turned around me. I followed the movements of his massive body dressed in simple black boxers, his muscles bulging under his skin made golden by the light of lamps, until he passed behind me. I turned my head to the other side, to see him reappearing on my right. Between his shoulder blades, a pair of red, huge, skeletal and membranous wings stretched across the room. A scaly, reptilian, endless tail trailed on the floor. I could finally _see_ him as he saw himself. And I had to admit the magnificence of this creature. Of his transformation.

"Do you think you're up to it, Will Graham?" He asked, coming to rest in front of me.

My hands curled into fists, my heartbeat accelerated, adrenalin coursed through my veins, my breathing became deeper. I unsuccessfully tried to abandon the idea that we were going to fight for _him_. I tried to forget that Hannibal had put Francis in my path to prove to me that he could be interested in someone other than me.

He held out a hand to a table and quickly grabbed an object that I didn't have time to notice. Then he raised it to his mouth, before opening his lips to slide it inside. I saw the dentures when he growled at me. He threw himself at me and I couldn't dodge him. His powerful arms encircled me, squeezing my breath away. He tried to bite my neck, but I forced myself out of his grip, before stumbling on the couch behind me, a hand stretched before me to push him away. He fell upon me. The ceramic bit into my biceps, a cry of pain escaped me. I freed myself, almost breaking my phalanx against his cheekbone, blood abundantly flowing under the torn sleeve of my sweater, staining the tissue, but he grabbed my clothes, lifted me as if I weighed nothing and threw me across the room. Crashing into the wall knocked me out, my back violently slammed into the ground and I sat up with difficulty. In two steps he was on me again. His knee collided with my nose. The pain blinded me. A robust hand squeezed my throat and lifted me against the tapestry. An inarticulate sound passed my lips, my blood pulsed in my ears, my vision darkened and my lungs burned. I planted my nails into his cheek, scratched his face to make him let go, while the oxygen rapidly abandoning me. I shook my legs in the void beneath my feet, kicked his shins, but nothing helped.

In the fog of suffocation, I clearly heard the rumbling of hooves on the floor. In the corner of my eye, I saw the stag enter the living room and then disappear into the back of the Dragon. A smile took shape on my bloody lips, just before the antlers pierced his abdomen and pulled him away from me. I fell to the ground, coughing like a madman, on the edge of unconsciousness. Eyes closed, I heard the dragon roar.

"Why?"

"Because he belongs to me, Francis. And he cannot die from other hands than mine." Hannibal replied.

Rage shook my body again. I found the strength to stand up and face them. In the middle of the room, Hannibal hardly controlled Francis, an arm tightened around his naked chest and hand pressed to his forehead to pull his head back, exposing his neck.

A roar rose through chest, vibrating in the air. My lips curled. In three steps, I was on him. My claws gashed his ribs. My teeth bit profoundly into his offered throat. The skin tore, blood invading my mouth, hot and fluid; it splashed my cheeks and my clothes when the enamel pierced his carotid. His cry made me tremble to the core in satisfaction. Over his dirtied shoulder, I shared a look with Hannibal, who didn't release his grip while Francis was convulsing against his chest. I closed my eyes, savoring the metallic taste on my tongue before tightening my jaw and tearing off the flesh. The carmine liquid spattered, dirtied my face, my chest, and warmed me. I spat out the tissue, while Hannibal left the massive and muscular man crashing to the ground like dead weight.

His breathing was heavy and deep, where mine was chopped and irregular. He gazed at me with his almost black eyes, looking me up and down, his eyes pinning me on the spot. He stepped over the dying creature at his feet which desperately clung to its last breath, and slowly approached. I moved back until felt the wall against my back. He leaned in and I thought he was going to eat me, before his lips came crashing down unto mine. His teeth scratched at me, forced me to open my mouth and his tongue caressed mine in a devastating kiss. And I caught fire. An insatiable hunger twisted my stomach, my hands went behind his back, grabbed his shirt and pulled at it. The already worn out seams protested, threads snapped and the fabric was torn, revealing a square of skin that I eagerly licked and nipped at. I couldn't breathe anything but his heady scent. He lifted my sweater and my shirt, passed them over my head, before throwing them away. Eagerly, I finished removing the tattered cloth that barely covered him and he pushed me back to the wall. His rough tongue collected the blood on my chin and then he kissed me again, as if he wanted to merge with me. One of his hands cascaded over my stomach which contracted from the contact, opened my pants, before diving into my boxers. The sensation of his fingers around me, failed to make me lose my mind and a groan escaped me, my teeth imprisoned his lower lip. He growled at the bite and suddenly pulled at my jeans to remove them too. The denim crawled down my legs, taking with it my underwear, to rest at my ankles. I kicked them away, as well as my shoes and then realized I was naked in front of him.

He stepped back to admire his work. My bare skin covered with sweat and blood, my chaotic breath, my wet and messy hair. He licked his lips, eyeing me intently, before dropping to his knees in front of me. He pressed his cheek against my thigh, licked my groin and the whole length of my cock before making it slide in the heat of his mouth. My hands tightened on his hair. A vulgar exclamation passed my lips and vibration of his laughter shook my lower abdomen. He sucked, played divinely his tongue, firmly immobilizing my hips, and I couldn't take my eyes off him, while I totally lost control. He took me to the edge of the breaking, then nipped his way along my chest, ending his trail in a deep kiss, before suddenly pulling me up to a door not far away.

He opened it and we entered a chamber where a king-size bed throned. There was certainly other furniture but it was the only one that caught my attention. I abruptly pushed him there and he fell on his back. Greedily, I removed his last pieces of clothing before climbing on him and kissed his lips again. He returned my embrace, before reversing our positions and dumping me on the mattress. He slipped between my legs, pressed his erection to mine and my nails scratched his shoulder blades. His hand caressed my cheek. I lost myself in his eyes. He brushed his fingers to my lips and I took two of them between my teeth, before rolling up my tongue around them. He sighed, put his lips on my neck and marked me as his, before recovering his wet digits to make a way into my flesh. The new and exhilarating feeling made me bend me over the sheets and he reveled in seeing me like this, delving deeper into me. He played me as an instrument, the raving sounds he was able to tear out of me, savoring the vision of my shivering body, the taste of my skin. His intoxicating and suffocating presence between my legs deprived me of my self-control, extracting insane pleas to which he deliberately avoided answering. The impression of burning from the inside, without finding satisfaction, put me out of patience and I sat up to cling to his neck, before pushing him onto the bed and climb on him. He received me in his arms, surprised, admiring me perched on his hips.

"You're beautiful." He whispered. "You don't know how much."

Without answering, uncomfortable to be as exposed to his gaze, I leaned over his broad chest, kissed the thin skin of his ribs, licked his firm stomach, rubbed my nose against the fine hair of his groin and inhaled his haunting scent. His imposing erection pressed against my cheek and I pointed my tongue to appreciate its flavor. He had a taste of paradise. Or was that of hell? I took his cock in my mouth and he threw his head back on the pillows, squeezing my shoulder. A groan echoed through the room and it was my turn to torture him. Ignoring my inexperience, I focused on the reactions of his body languid under me, for long minutes, until he trembled under the caress of my tongue. I released him, watched him for a moment, while he seemed to be waiting to see my next move. Surprised that he let me run the show, I gave him a delicious kiss which seemed endless, before impaling myself on his dick. He grabbed my butt, while he pushed slowly into me. The burn went up and down my spine, I felt him penetrating into my flesh, take possession of my being. His fingers tightened on my waist, he lifted his pelvis and filled me completely. My cry pierced the silence, my muscles contracted because of the pain.

His hands calmed me, almost tender, while he waited for me to begin moving, resisting the desire move me himself. He straightened, circled my chest and nestled his nose into my neck. We stayed like that for a moment, or was it an eternity, anchored into each other as a single entity. Then he made us switch to the side and regained control, before moving slowly into me. My legs wrapped themselves around his back to take him deeper. His lips found mine in a carnal and ardent kiss, my hands were lost in his hair and clung to his shoulders. He took me with more strength and passion and saw me sinking little by little. When the pleasure finally made me arch against him, he accelerated the rhythm losing his control. His sweaty skin slid against mine. His breath, his sighs, got lost in my mouth. My nails dug into his body, left marks. His teeth nibbled at my skin. And I almost gasped in our warm embrace. He slipped an arm between our bellies, grabbed my cock, before caressing it expertly, losing himself more ardently in me. The pleasure increased by ever more devastating waves and I was on the precipice. His face twitched, his eyelids closed and I knew that he was there too. I arched myself a little more on the bed, pulled on the sheets, unable to control the need to come undone that burned in my lower abdomen, or the pleading tone of my hoarse voice. And he redoubled his efforts, lost to the wild pace of his thrusts, when I finally exploded in his hand and that orgasm shattered my mind. I felt him tense against me, losing all sense of reality, while he muffled his cry against my lips.

I hugged him against me with all my strength, kept him in my arms, long after our bodies were appeased and the silence slowly filled the room lit only by the light coming from the living room. For long minutes, he kissed me leisurely, as a serenity that I never thought possible established itself between us. The calm after the storm. Or were we just in the eye of the cyclone?

When my arms eventually fall gently on the mattress, he carefully pulled out of me before lying down beside me, without breaking the physical contact. We looked at each other in silence, face to face under these covers that didn't belong to us, in this room that wasn't ours, in this house where the owner was always lying in the lounge. It should have disturbed me, but, exhausted, I quickly fell asleep.


	6. I don't wanna wake up from this tonight

**VI**

 **I don't wanna wake up from this tonight**

 **Note :** This chapter has a voluntarily ethereal, almost unrealistic atmosphere, because, till the end, Will refuses to think about the situation. He's in denial.

* * *

I opened my eyes in the dark, flinching. During endless seconds, I was unable to remember where I was. Then I blindly stretched my arm out to find a switch and flicked on a bedside lamp. The yellow light assaulted my pupils, illuminating the room and my memories. A glance at the alarm clock told me that I had slept three hours at most. I sighed and lay down again, eyes closed, before taking stock of my paralyzed body of pain. My nose was very tender. I was afraid to touch it. On the hand which had struck Francis, two knuckles were blue. My throat was very raw. My neck hurt as soon as I moved my head. Not to mention the _rest_. Getting up would be torture, but there was a need that surpassed all of this. Hunger. My stomach growled. My senses were awakened then, and I understood why. A delicious smell floated in the air. There was only one explanation. Hannibal was cooking. And I was hungry as a lion.

Gathering my strength, I left the bed. I didn't know where my clothes were. They were gone. Whatever. We had reached a point where I didn't mind exiting the room completely naked and entering the living room. The first thing which struck me was the absence of Francis' body on the ground. In the place where it should have been, the blood had soaked the floor. A fire burned in the fireplace. On the couch, my jacket had not been moved. But still no trace of my clothes. Resigned, I went deep into the mansion, following the scent of spices and clinking of utensils that I could perceive now.

The kitchen was huge, just like the house. Behind the work surface, Hannibal seemed more in his element than anywhere else, even though he was only wearing boxers. On the stove, dishes slowly simmered in a pressure-cooker or crackled in a skillet. This was from where the aroma was emanating that that made my stomach twist again. Hannibal raised his head and noticed me. His gaze pierced me and I froze on the spot, until he raised a mocking eyebrow, letting his eyes travel up and down the expanse of my body. A crooked smile appeared on his thin lips and I rolled my eyes.

"I didn't find my clothes." I justified myself, walking towards him.

"I burned them, as well as mine. They were covered in blood." He told me, by seizing the handle of the frying pan to stir ingredients.

"What's for dinner?" I asked, motivated by an unhealthy curiosity.

"Shepherd's pie of Dragon's heart seasoned with whiskey." He said, with some pride in his voice. "But before you sit at the table, you should go take a shower, so I can examine your wounds. The bathroom is there." He added, showing me a door leading to a hallway.

My empty stomach didn't like this idea, but I could only imagine my current appearance. The dried blood on my skin, bruises ... So I followed his advice and left the room, refusing to think too much about what was happening.

The bathroom was large too. There was a spacious shower with a glass divider against the wall opposite to the entrance. To my right, a black double vanity unit contrasting with the white walls. To my left, an antique full-length mirror which featured cracks spreading from its center. The fragmented reflection which it sent back to me made me jump. Besides bruises, I found a multitude of bite marks, hickeys and scratches. I turned to expose my back. It didn't offer a better scene. Without thinking about how the marks got there, and especially because of _whom_ , I hastened to get into the shower and turn on the water. The steaming jet struck my shoulders and my muscles relaxed immediately. The water was colored with red, carrying away my anxiety to the drain. Then the door opened behind me.

Without looking back, I knew he was coming into the room, and I shuddered when his skin came into contact with mine. Two warm hands caressed my shoulder blades and then seized a shower gel and a washcloth, before tending to me. The cloth soaked with water and soap finished cleaning me.

"Show me your face." He whispered in my ear.

Slowly, I faced him and he gently dabbed at my nose, before examining its bridge carefully. A groan of pain escaped me.

"It's not broken. It will be painful for a few days. I'll give you an analgesic later. "

I nodded just before he grasped my chin, to raise my head and look at my neck. I grimaced with pain.

"The mark of strangulation will soon disappear, but you will certainly have an irritated throat for a while. I don't think that you would need a neck brace."

His fingers lowered to grab my left hand, before lifting it. He inspected it carefully, ignoring my wedding ring.

"Haematoma at the fourth and fifth metacarpals, but I feel no fracture. Do you have any other wounds? "

"Except the damage you've caused? No, nothing else."

And a little carnivorous smile stretched his lips, before he leaned down to kiss me. Apparently he wasn't at all sorry for that. I had expected nothing less from him and found the flavor of his tongue on mine to be electrifying. Then he pressed our foreheads together, his hands on my hips.

"We cannot dwell here too long." He whispered. "I'm going to find us some clothes."

He kissed my cheek before exiting the shower, wrapping a white towel around his waist and opening the door, while I seized a bottle of shampoo to wash my hair.

"Hannibal?" I called him, before he left.

"Yes ?"

"Is Argentina far from here?"

In response, he simply smiled and then left the room.

...

When I came into the kitchen, wrapped in a gray bathrobe too big for me, Hannibal, dressed in simple black pants and a burgundy red V-neck sweater, was making mashed potatoes. I had stayed much longer than necessary in the shower, to convince myself that my initial plan was still on track and that I was doing all this only to earn his trust. It could have worked ... If I could forget the desire for him that he had awakened in me. Moreover, he was right. I could hardly to exculpate myself. Especially now. I was guilty of four murders, one of which had been premeditated. I didn't really have much choice. I would have to accept his help. It wasn't as if I could go back home. It wasn't as if I could be with Molly anymore. She had made her choice, and so had I.

On the central kitchen island, one pill and a glass of water was waiting for me and I hastened to swallow it realizing how thirsty I was, before my interest was drawn to the pile of clothes folded on a stool.

"I think that they're almost your size." He said, crushing the potatoes with a fork before adding the milk.

I didn't bother going somewhere else to change my clothes. There were some graphite grey khakis, a white shirt and a thick deep blue sweater that warmed me immediately. The set was several sizes too large but comfortable. Hannibal flambéed the meat with whiskey and hunger reemerged at the forefront in my mind. Not wanting to remain inactive, I opened a few cupboards and the cutlery drawer to find what I wanted, before putting it on the island. He had already taken two wine glasses and opened a bottle of red that he had found heaven only knew where in the house. He turned off the stove and arranged a cylindrical cookie cutter in the middle of a white plate, before raising the dish and sprinkling it with chives. I sat and watched his slender hands repeating the maneuver with the same meticulous precision. It was far from the sophisticated dinners which he had organized in the past but it didn't prevent him from doing his best. He wiped away a drop of sauce from the ceramic with a clean cloth, before put the dirty dishes in the sink and sitting down in front of me.

" _Bon appétit._ " He said, serving us wine.

"Thank you." I whispered, by seizing my fork, before planting it in the puree.

I also took some pieces of meat and inhaled deeply, before putting the fork in my mouth. I expected nausea but the flavors exploded in my mouth. It was creamy, tender and spicy. Ingredients blended into perfection. And I had to force myself to eat slowly and savor every bite. I looked up at Hannibal, who seemed to be waiting for my verdict, and sincerely smiled for the first time in years. He appeared satisfied and he seized his glass, before smelling his drink and dipping his lips there. I knew nothing about oenology, but he visibly appreciated the taste of the wine, so I drank mine without apprehension.

The meal took place in comfortable silence. There were many things we had to discuss, but none of us felt the need to talk. Our relation had never been so clear, so unclouded. No more pretense, no more double games. I wasn't on a mission for Jack anymore and Hannibal didn't hide behind a mask. I had become his equal.

...

The sun rose and reality caught up with us. We had lingered here enough time. At any moment someone could come ringing. Francis wouldn't be going to work today and it would eventually be noticed. No one knew the identity of the Red Dragon, except us, but this didn't necessarily mean that we were safe in his house.

However, we didn't want to leave places without restoring his magnificence. In the attic which we had discovered while looking for equipment which could be useful for us, we moved back to admire our first real collaboration, finally satisfied. Hung by the shoulders and wrists on the exposed beams, completely naked and arms spread, Francis Dolarhyde had finally become what he wanted to be. The raw skin of his back was stretched on two wooden structures to form two majestic wings whereon we could discern his big tattoo.

My left hand hurt a lot and I tried to forget it, while we packed our suitcases. But Hannibal saw me wince.

"Go put some ice on it."

These were the first words he spoke for hours. And I listened to him, leaving the living room for the kitchen where I opened the freezer to take an ice-cube tray and empty it in a cloth, before applying it on my knuckles. The cold did a world of good to me and I waited for a few minutes before glancing at it to notice that they were swollen again. My eyes drifted to my wedding ring. It shone with a gilded brightness under the light. Carefully, I removed it while gritting my teeth and then placed it on the work surface. It rolled on the ecru marble. I left it there and went back to the living room.

"I'll drive." He said, seeing me come back.

He wore a black leather jacket which he had found in Francis's wardrobe. It gave him a wild side. I imagined him, for a moment, on a bike, and I liked this idea a little too much for my own sanity.

"It's no big deal. I can drive." I answered.

"You almost didn't sleep."

"And you, not at all."

He sighed because I stood up to him.

"Fine. We'll take turns." He concluded, taking a bag before walking towards the exit.

I grabbed him by the arm and he looked at me. I caressed his smoothly shaven cheek with my good hand. My thumb slid on his high cheekbone and he closed his eyes.

"Are ... are you in love with me?" I whispered.

He swallowed and I followed the bobbing of his Adam's apple. He gave me a long and deep look.

"Yes." He said against my lips before kissing me.

I put my arms around his waist, his bag crashed to the ground and he took my face in his hands. I ached for him as he ached for me. Our embrace slid slowly toward something more carnal, more animalistic, and he moved away before losing control of the situation. We needed to get out of here. I took a bag and Hannibal was going to do the same, when he suddenly grabbed my wounded hand. The move surprised me but I realized what had drawn his attention. He simply looked at my ring finger, caressed it slowly, before releasing me and going to open the door.

The winter cold invaded the hall immediately, and I quickly put on my jacket before joining him on the steps. At this very early hour, the street was deserted. So I closed the door behind me and we walked up to the car. Hannibal slid in behind the wheel, while I threw our bags in the trunk. His stubbornness made me smile and I finally decided to take the opportunity to sleep a couple of hours. He started the car and I settled down in my seat as comfortably as possible, before leaning my head against the window. The vehicle rushed on the road and I watched the landscape pass us by, while the sun shone with a new brightness.


	7. Your face is like a melody

**VII**

 **Your face is like a melody**

 **Thanks Astrid! You're the best ^^**

* * *

Eyes closed, I let myself be lulled by the sound of the engine and bumps of the road. Everything seemed so unreal. A hand gently placed on my thigh. Its warmth spread across my skin through my pants. A sigh escaped me and I leaned deeper into the seat.

"You still haven't explained to me." He said, suddenly.

"What?" I asked, lazily.

"The chain of events that led you to help me escape."

I opened my eyes and sat up, realizing he was right. All of this had happened so fast.

"Molly left."

"It was my understanding, indeed." He commented, seeing that I wasn't offering any further explanation. "But it wasn't because of that, was it?"

"No. She left me after a discussion she had with Alana. Basically, I just came to ask for explanations. I didn't understand why she had decided to tell her all these things that I had deliberately kept silent about. When I arrived, she was with Margot ..."

"What happened?"

"I overheard their conversation. They were planning your murder." I whispered, clearly remembering the scene. "They were wondering if it would be noticed in the autopsy. I realized they were talking about a poison or something similar. Then Richard came with the meal trays. I made the connections and ... I don't know ... I haven't really ... thought. I…"

He violently swerved and I was thrown against the car door. He parked on the side of the road and turned off the engine. His back rigid, hands gripping the steering wheel, he took a deep breath. My hand flew to his neck, slipped through his hair.

"We cannot go back there. We must remain invisible and unpredictable." I whispered, feeling him relaxing under my palm. "We must leave this town. If you ..." I swallowed hard. "If you love me ... let's get away from here without killing anyone."

He turned his head towards me and I lost myself in his stare. Without taking his eyes off me, he started the car and got back on the road.

...

When I recognized the neighborhood where we were, an overwhelming anxiety rose in my chest. Hannibal parked a block from his home.

"I need to pick up a few things. It'll just take a minute and then we'll leave." He explained to me.

"There will be undercover cops everywhere."

"Unless they don't think me stupid enough to come back here."

"Jack wouldn't have taken this risk. We cannot just walk to the front door, hoping that no one is going to arrest us. Are you sure that's absolutely necessary?"

"Yes, if we want to leave the country."

I tried to think quickly about a solution, when a young vagrant drew my attention.

"Have you some money in the house?" I asked hastily.

"Yes, in a safe. Why?"

Without answering, I got out of the car and joined the man, looking all around me.

"Excuse me, sir."

The beggar turned around, curious about what I wanted him.

"How would you like to make some cash?"

"Yes, of course!" He exclaimed.

"I'd like to ask a favor. It's a little risky, but ..."

"I'm your man!" He interrupted me.

I smiled to him as innocently as possible, glad that he'd accepted.

"You see the house over there?" I said, pointing at the mansion. "It belongs to my friend sitting in the car. He's going through a difficult divorce... well, you know how it is."

"Not really, sir. But I see what you mean." He replied.

"His wife has thrown him out, changed the locks and left him with nothing."

"It's not cool." He commented, putting his hands in his pockets.

"Not cool at all." I agreed. "He would like to get his stuff, but we don't know if she's here..."

"You want me to ring, right?"

"Exactly. You're a smart boy. I would do it myself, but she knows me and… she hates me. "

"I see. He's left her for you."

"Good deductions, Sherlock. Thus, you go, you check there's anybody here and then, I'll pay you."

"Deal." He said before walking up to the house.

I went back into the car.

"Get ready to get the hell out of here."

Hannibal started the car and left the parking place to turn around in the street, before stopping at a red traffic light. I watched the scene from a distance, through the rear window. The teenager walked up the steps and rang. A second later, a man came out of a car parked not far away, ran towards him and pinned him against the door. The plainclothes officer overpowered the young man without too much difficulty and then I saw Jack slowly walk up the stairs. I turned towards Hannibal and met his determined look. Without hesitation, he turned right, then right again. When I understood what he was doing, I grabbed his arm as if to stop him.

"We need to leave, Hannibal!"

"Jack will be busy a few minutes, thanks to your diversion. We're going to go round the back."

He stopped in the backyard and exited the car before running towards the back door. I followed in his footsteps. Soon, we were in his living room. Seeing the inside of this house again after all these years, brought back faded memories. Conversations, dinners. Unconsciously, my hand caressed the scar on my stomach, when I passed the kitchen. For a split second, I thought to I saw Abigail in a pool of blood. I was yet again reminded of the long hours which I had spent here, alone, after his departure for Europe. When he had abandoned me.

Seeing him back between these walls brought me an indescribable feeling. Everything here was impregnated with his person. Without hesitation, he walked to a bookcase and pulled out a pile of books from a shelf, revealing a small safe that I had never known existed.

As my thoughts drifted, I lost touch with reality for a moment. The house was too emotionally charged. My eye has fallen on a painting on the wall, Hannibal approached me from the back. Then, I felt the harsh and cold touch of the barrel of a gun against the back of my neck. I turned slowly to Jack. Contrary to what I thought, Hannibal was nowhere in sight.

"I'm going to ask you once and once only, Will. Did you do all this of your own free will? "

For an eternity, I met his dark stare.

"Yes." I whispered, finally.

My answer shocked him.

"Why?" He asked, between his teeth.

His gun still pointed at me, shaking with anger, he seemed out of it, ready to fire at any moment. Slowly, I raised my hands. From the corner of my eye, I saw Hannibal approach silently, fast and relentless. His hand held one of his kitchen knives which I knew to be impeccably sharpened. Time seemed to freeze and, in slow motion, a powerful hand seized Jack and the blade passed under his throat, before cutting it in a sudden and perfectly controlled movement. Instantly, a stream of blood flowed on the floor, splattered the wall to my right. In an instinctive reflex, I grabbed his Glock, as he fell to the ground with one hand pressed to his neck in a gesture that I knew to be futile. A warm palm landed on my cheek, caressing and I closed my eyes before kissing his hand.

"You're all right?" He whispered.

I just nodded, unable to watch the scene unfolding before me.

"I've got what we need. Let's go." He added, cautiously removing the weapon from my grip, before guiding me toward the exit.

Outside, a cold wind brought me back to reality. Jack would kill me. Hannibal killed Jack. A cause. An effect. Time could flow only in one direction.

He slid behind the wheel, while I went up to the car and we were on the road again.

"What was so valuable in there that we needed to get ourselves into a situation where we only have a few minutes to leave the city before there are roadblocks everywhere?" I asked, checking over my shoulder to see if we were being pursued.

He gave me a black bag then, wherein the first thing I saw was a significant amount of banknotes, before spotting two navy blue booklets. Passports, I understood, by examining them closely. I opened one. Despite Hannibal's photo on the left of the page, the name written to the right was unknown to me. It was certainly a fake, but a well made forgery. In the second, to my surprise, was a picture of myself, found I didn't know where, next to another unknown identity.

"Since when are you in possession of a fake passport for me?"

"Four years." He answered without taking his eyes off the road.

I stared at him, unable to respond for a moment.

"You ... You really wanted me to go with you, this time, right?"

He just took my hand to bring it to his mouth before kissing it and I caressed his lips with my thumb.

...

We had to leave Baltimore on minor roads. Reaching our goal would take several days, but we had to avoid the highway at all costs. "Unpredictability" was the watchword. Be where they wouldn't wait for us. And while they would watch all the US airports, we would drive towards Mexico City where we would take a plane for Buenos Aires.

We couldn't drive forever, even while driving in shifts. But for now, relief wasn't an option. We had to put as much distance as possible between them and us, until we fell asleep.

The gas tank didn't leave us this luxury as long as we would have wanted it. Night had fallen long ago. My watch indicated one o'clock in the morning and we were in West Virginia, on road 259, when we found ourselves with no other choice than to stop in order to avoid running out of gas. A gas station finally materialized in the dark and I turned on my turn signal and left the road with relief. I stopped in front of the gas pump and exited into the cold night to put gas in the car. Hannibal took some cash from the bag and opened his door.

"I'll get us something to eat." He told me.

I nodded with a tired smile and he walked up to the small grocer's shop where I quickly joined him. The harsh lighting of the shop assaulted my retinas and I spotted him at once, paying the bill. At this late hour, the gas station was deserted, apart from one employee. My hand caressed Hannibal's back in a gesture that seemed surprisingly natural to me. He turned his head toward me, feeling the caress and gave me an indescribable look that worried me.

"So, you're on a road trip?" The cashier asked us, longing for conversation.

Above his head, a small television broadcast information continuously without sound. On the screen, our faces displayed a few seconds before giving way to an FBI agent that I didn't know. He spoke into the microphone of a journalist, surely they had put out an APB. Soon, we'd be hunted throughout the country.

"Yes, somehow." Hannibal replied, calmly, making sure to keep his attention to prevent him from looking at the news.

He gave him a fifty-dollar note and the man returned his change.

"There's a motel, a little further on the right. You should take a break, guys. You look like hell. I don't know where you're going like this, but if you want to arrive in one piece... Roads are pretty bad at night around here."

"Thanks for your recommendation, sir. We'll follow your advice." I replied, taking the plastic bag full of food on the counter, before walking as quietly as possible to the exit.

"Good night and good luck." He wished us.

Without delay, we went to the car and drove two kilometers, before finding the motel.


	8. There's no release

**VII**

 **There's no release**

 **Note :** Here is finally the chapter 8. Sorry for the delay. Thank you for your patience.

Thanks Astridu!  
Happy reading!

* * *

The motel was like all the establishments which lined the roads throughout the United States. In appearance rather seedy, an almost empty parking lot but for one car, an out of order vending machine next to the entrance, maybe a dozen rooms all on the ground floor, a somewhat dilapidated storefront, huge red neon letters. The only light came from the reception and I parked the car not far from there, before opening the trunk. Hannibal followed me. It was as if we shared the same thoughts or just the same reasoning. I opened one of our bags and gave him a black beanie which he put on his head, while I put on a khaki cap, lowering the visor in front of my eyes. Like this, we'd be harder to recognize to anyone who had seen our faces on the news. We had to deal with it and pray that it would work. To go on driving that night wasn't an option. The cashier had been right. Deep dark circles marked Hannibal's eyes, his face was drawn and strained, and I wasn't in any better condition. We exchanged a last look, before heading towards the entrance.

The office was like the motel. Poorly furnished, not properly maintained, lightless, and the manager behind the worn counter, was only an additional stereotype. Middle-aged, paunchy, he was captivated by any television series, slouching in a chair that seemed about to fall apart. With a vacant stare, he ate barbecue chips which he absentmindedly fished out of a torn bag. I didn't need to look at Hannibal to guess his facial expression.

"Good evening." I said, with a loud voice, so that the man would grant us his attention. "We need a room."

He muted the sound of the television and took a register and a pen.

"Can I have your ID?" He asked.

I gave him our passports, hoping he wouldn't pay attention to the photos. He copied our fake names, before raising his face to us.

"Double or two single beds?"

The question took me by surprise and an inarticulate sound came out of my mouth. When he saw I couldn't find the words, Hannibal answered in my place. The manager raised a mocking eyebrow, but made no comment, before turning back to bring a key hung on behind him.

"So take the number seven. There is a mirror on the ceiling." He told us, handing us the keychain.

"Oh my God." I muttered under my breath, rushing to get out, leaving Hannibal to pay for the room.

Hands deep in my pockets to fend against the cold, I returned to the car to get our luggage before heading to the door, upon which a "7" in golden metal was mounted. Hopping from one foot to another, I waited for Hannibal. Without a word, he opened the room and moved aside to let me in.

The room was like the rest of the motel: an ugly tapestry with undefined motifs, a carpet that had seen better days, an antique TV set on a rickety shelf with a pamphlet showing the tariffs of the pornographic channels, the infamous double bed, and an old cupboard which was missing a handle. To top it off, the room was overheated. A real oven. Literally. Immediately, sweat started running down my back, under my many layers of clothing, beading on my forehead, my temples, and I quickly put down the bags to get rid of my jacket, my cap, my sweater and shoes, while Hannibal did the same. Then I approached the radiator. Obviously, the thermostat button was broken.

I heard the sound of a zipper and turned to see Hannibal take the toiletries. I really needed a shower too.

"Do you want to go first?" He asked, as if he sensed my thoughts.

"No. Go ahead. I'll lie down a bit." I replied, turning words into action.

The mattress sagged a little too much under my weight and the sheets, if not new, were clean. But what disturbed me deeply was to see my own reflection by looking up. This guy was serious. Nevertheless, I sighed with well-being as I felt my back, stiff from too many hours of driving and naps on the seat of the old Chevrolet, finally relaxing. Hannibal disappeared into the bathroom and I closed my eyes for a moment.

An air-like caress to my hair woke me and I looked directly into his brown, hot and penetrating eyes. His fingers slid down my cheek, my neck, my skin was covered with goose bumps.

"You can go." He said softly.

I nodded, unsure of my voice, before straightening up. He followed my movement, moved back to let me get up. Then I noticed that he was wearing only a towel around his waist. A solitary water drop slowly rolled down his collarbone, passed between his defined pectorals, slowed by some fine and fair hairs on his chest, before following the line of his abdominal muscles and disappearing, absorbed by the terry cloth. I swallowed hard, my Adam's apple jerked loudly and scraped against my larynx, as my throat was dry.

"I'll ..." I hesitated, pointing to the bathroom. "…take a shower."

Quickly, I grabbed the toiletries and almost slammed the door behind me. I looked around the bathroom and saw the dirty mirror, dust on the sink, the unidentified tracks on the "white" tile, molds on the joints and the scaly shower head which spat an uneven jet with a temperature which was impossible to adjust correctly. I resigned myself to being scalded, rather than to die of cold, trying to imagine myself anywhere but here, while water relaxed my muscles. Above all, I would not think about that single water drop.

Fortunately, I didn't have to wipe myself with the hotel towel which was hanging miserably on a hook, and I dried my skin with the quilted and soft fabric which we had taken in our luggage, before knotting it on my hips and going out... to freeze in the door frame.

Lying on his stomach, his arms tucked under a pillow, Hannibal seemed asleep, still scantily clad. It was the first time I saw him like this. In this vulnerable position, I could see how he trusted me now.

Furtively, I sat on the bed beside him. My gaze was lost on the smooth curves of his body covered here and there with more or less old scars. I ran my fingertips on his back where Verger's brand was still visible. Seeing it reminded me of Mason and this nightmarish night when Hannibal had saved me. One more time. When he had brought me home, cared for my wounds. When I had told him I wouldn't miss him, that I wouldn't go looking for him and I didn't want to think about him anymore. The night he had surrendered to the police, to be sure to see me again. How could I have thought for a moment, that I'd be able to live without him indefinitely?

At length I caressed his pale skin, the curve of his spine, his prominent shoulder blades, his muscular shoulders, his proud neck, before noticing that he was watching me behind his fair hair which fell in front of his eyes. Predator's eyes. My mouth went dry. A low rumble rose from his chest, vibrated under my palm, and he fell upon me. His lips took over mine when he pinned me to the mattress and we lost our towels in the maneuver. His body covered me, wrapped me in its warmth. His hands seemed everywhere at once, stroking my ribs, grabbing my hips, slightly scratching my thighs. He slipped between my legs. His devastating kiss made me breathless and I clung to his hair, his neck and his shoulders, nibbled his neck and licked his throbbing carotid. He pressed our foreheads together, kissed my cheek, before looking into my eyes.

There was a moment of hesitation, we just shared the same air, before he sat up and grabbed my shoulder to make me turn around. I buried my face in a pillow; apprehension crawled under my skin, mingling with desire. He stepped over my thighs and his burning palms rested on me, gently down on my back and I sighed of well-being. He leaned over to me and bit my neck, before retracing the line of my vertebrae with the tip of his tongue, agonizingly slowly. My fingers caught sheets, my back arched in search of more contact. He moved back, knelt between my legs, and I turned my head to see him of the corner of my eye. He sank his teeth into the tender flesh of my left buttock, made me jump, before going down to the ground and searched in the bag of the gas station, to get out a small bottle of massage oil. I pursed my lips not to laugh and he raised an eyebrow. How could he have thought to buy _that_?

In his dark eyes, I knew that he had no intention to use it conventionally, and desire stirred my heart. He opened it without taking his eyes off me, before pouring some of the contents into his hand and returning the bottle to the bedside table. His imposing erection brushed against my skin and a shiver ran through me. He settled back between my thighs, his oiled fingers slipped between the two fleshy globes of my buttocks, touched me, teased me, and a complaint of frustration escaped me. The savagery had given way to sadism. And it was only when my hips rose up to meet him, he finally slipped his fingers into me, slowly, feeding on each of my reactions. He had apparently decided to teach me, away from the rush of the day before. Meticulously, he put me in agony, wiggled his fingers, added one, go further, while biting, licking, kissing my back, pushed me to my limits. He made me almost pleading, dominated by the need to feel him in me.

In perfect control of his emotions, he retrieved the bottle and I turned my head towards him again, to see him lubricate his erection, before leaning over me. He kissed my lips, penetrating me with care. A groan escaped me; our hands were entwined, pressed on the sheets and he moved against my back, sinking deep into my flesh again and again. The friction of the sheet against my cock made me arch a little more, trapped in his warmth, intoxicated by his scent, when he suddenly left me to turn me on the bed. In front of me, he devoured me with his eyes, languid under him, sweaty and breathless. I grabbed his neck and pulled him to me, to give him an eager kiss, before knotting my ankles in his back so that he could take possession of me again. He plunged his nose into my neck to inhale the scent of my skin, taking me harder, and my eyes drifted to our reflection on the ceiling. There I could see his soaked back, his tense muscles, brutal movements of his body, my nails making scarlet scratches on his shoulder blades. And the pleasure on my face, the desire in my eyes, my red lips, my wet hair. Seeing myself like this, submitting to this man, this predator, this unique and complex human being, shook me deeply.

His lips found mine and I lost myself in his kiss, before suddenly reversing our positions. Surprised, he could only follow my tracks. A hoarse moan passed his throat when I impaled myself on him before lasciviously grinding my hips. He grabbed my dick and stood up, gripping my waist, caressed me expertly, until I trembled in his arms and cried against his lips, my fingers digging furrows in his shoulders. He watched me lose control, moving with more passion, receiving him more ardently in me, he drank my sighs, kissed me breathlessly. The pleasure rose in my lower abdomen, devoured my entrails, before exploding in his hand. He made me switch back, before taking me harder, stronger, pinning me to the mattress, biting my neck and climaxing inside me, struck by orgasm.

I kissed his sweaty forehead, caressed his uncombed hair, his soaked back until he relaxed and calmed down. He kissed my latest bite mark, then my cheek and my lips. I hugged him, appeased, satiated. Then we languidly stretched out on the bed without covering ourselves with sheets. It was too hot in this room. I snuggled against his chest, slipped a leg between his and sighed with delight, listening to his heart beating. All this was new to me, unknown. No words came to me, my thoughts fluctuated freely. Then I met Hannibal's eyes in the mirror on the ceiling. He seemed fascinated by what he saw and I realized that he created a new place in his memory palace, to never forget. I tried to do it too. We had just made love desperately, in a seedy hotel room in the middle of nowhere, while the police were after us. At least there was no corpse in the next room. At least we were free. Amoral, outlawed and perhaps insane. But free.


	9. Tell me that everything is fine

**IX**

 **Tell me that everything is fine**

 **Note :** Two chapters for the price of one ^^

Happy reading!

* * *

I slowly woke up in a cocoon of heat. Refusing to open my eyes, I snuggled up a little more to Hannibal's body, sighing. The arm around my waist tightened its grip. He kissed my forehead.

"If we don't want to lose the small lead we have, we must go now, Will." He whispered in my ear.

"I know." I mumbled, burying my nose in his neck.

"Go take a shower. I'm going to pack our things. Then, we'll quickly eat something."

Resigned, I left his arms to sit down, passing a hand in my tangled hair.

"Coming with me?" I invited him.

"In this tiny cesspool? Certainly not. It's bad enough to go there alone. We'll have much better opportunities." He answered, before kissing me.

I laughed against his lips, before getting up and picking up my towel which had fallen on the carpeted floor during the night.

…

It was early. We finished a little before dawn. I closed the trunk while Hannibal sat down behind the steering wheel. I joined him, shivering cold. He opened the glove compartment and took out an old and frayed roadmap which had certainly belonged to the previous owner of the car, before giving it to me. Understanding very well what he wanted, I unfolded it on the dashboard to spot our location.

"I seem to remember that we are on the 259. Between Yellow Spring and the state line." He said, pointing a zone on the yellowed paper. "If I'm not mistaken, we have to continue on this road."

He was right.

"If we take turns all day long, we can reach Monterey before having to stop somewhere." I said. "Then we'll change vehicles."

He nodded his approval before starting the car.

…

The road rushed by endlessly. My thoughts escaped towards the memories of my crossing of the Atlantic Ocean. Weeks, alone on that boat. And nevertheless, the time hadn't seemed that long to me. I was so absorbed by my purpose at that moment, that nothing would have been able to stop me. At that time, finding Hannibal had been an obsession. A motor. Now, we were fugitives together. But the fear was exhausting. Sleeping with one eye open, stopping only when absolutely necessary, avoiding coming into contact with anybody. Driving and driving again. Mexico had never seemed to me so far. But, now that our faces were certainly posted in all the airports and police stations of the country, we really had no other choice. And FBI knew it very well. We had conceal our destination from, by any means. Otherwise, we would never cross the border. It was a race against time and we didn't have the advantage. We had to disappear from the radars, and fast.

"What are you thinking about?" He asked suddenly, after an eternity of silence.

We didn't really need to speak to feel comfortable together. Strangely, it was now that we were completely honest with each other, and ourselves, that discussions became useless. We weren't patient and psychiatrist any longer; I didn't have to try to extract confessions and he didn't try to manipulate me. There was only a deep bond, the uncontrollable need to touch, the insatiable hunger of our bodies and feelings too difficult to describe.

"Us." I answered, incapable of summarizing things differently.

"Why did you follow me? Why have you done all this?" He continued, after a moment of silence. "You could have warned Jack, or confronted Alana directly. It's not as if you wouldn't have been entitled to succeed. Fortunately, to plan the murder of a patient is still illegal, even if it would be good for some people."

I was going to answer that I didn't know. One more time. But, it wasn't the truth. However, certain things remained too hard to say.

"I died in your kitchen, Hannibal." I murmured. "Since then, my life doesn't belong to me anymore. I spent days wandering around in your house, reliving that evening, imagining a different outcome, until finally I understood that a part of me wanted to run away with you. And this part was the last thing I owned. The part of me which survived that night."

He stared at the horizon, with this neutral expression behind which he was hiding when he didn't want to show what he felt. I believed that he was going to leave it there, but he surprised me.

"Can I ask you the same question as you, Will?"

"Which one?" I answered, looking through the window.

"You know very well."

And it was true. Obviously. But I had no intention to let him get away so easily. If he wanted an answer, he'd have to make the effort to ask it explicitly.

"I really don't know. I asked you many questions in the last few days."

I grimaced, trying not to smile, looking at the landscape...

"You are aware that I see your reflection in the window, right?"

…and failed miserably.

"What do you want to know, Hannibal?"

"Do you know that I like the way you say my name? One day, I'll make you scream it."

"What?!" I exclaimed, blushing deeply. "No! I know what you're trying to do!" I added, putting my finger in his face. "But it's not gonna work. I'm not this moldable being whom you could manipulate as you please anymore."

"No. That man died in my kitchen, right?"

"That man couldn't love you, because he didn't love himself." I whispered, looking at my hands put on my knees.

"And the one you are today?" He asked, after a moment of hesitation.

"I'm still here, aren't I?" I answered, turning to him.

He smirked and I wanted to bite him. My gaze fixed on his tasty neck, when the siren of a police car made me jump. Through the rear window, I could see the agent behind his steering wheel. He wanted us to pull over. Hannibal slowed down, before stopping.

"What are you doing?"

"A high-speed chase would be stupid. He's alone, without backup, it's probably nothing."

The officer parked behind us and exited his vehicle. His boots slammed on the asphalt and his nightstick swung against his hip. He put his hat on his brown hair, before putting his hand on his holster out of habit. I lowered the visor of my cap in front of my eyes and Hannibal adjusted his beanie as low as possible on his forehead before opening the window.

"Hello, sirs. Do you know why I pulled you?"

The sweat flowed into my back and the Glock, which I had stored in the inside pocket of my jacket, suddenly weighed very heavy against my chest.

"No, I don't, officer." Hannibal retorted, mastering perfectly the tone of his voice. The pure innocence.

"Your left taillight is broken."

"Really?" The most sincere surprise, now. "I'm very sorry. I'm going to fix that from our next stop."

"I don't doubt that for a second. But, I have to write you up, sir. Can I see your driver's license, please?"

A long silence answered his request. The papers in question were certainly at the hospital, with Hannibal's personal effects. Even though, the car was stolen.

"Sir?" The officer repeated.

His body language radically changed.

"I'm afraid I forgot it."

"Forgot? If I'm to believe your license plates, you're not exactly from around here. You drive without license from Maryland. I'm going to need you to step out of the car, sir."

"Wait! I got mine!" I said, going through into my jacket. "I'm going to take the wheel and everything will be settled."

"Step out of the car, sir." He repeated, ignoring me. "And you don't move." He added for my benefit.

Hannibal gave me a glance, before carefully opening his car door. _The_ glance. The one that I had finally learnt to recognize. And I was held ready for anything. He got up slowly and dominated the policeman with his entire height. I kept an eye on them. The officer quickly searched him.

"Stay here." He ordered, before returning to his car.

Immediately, I very slowly opened my car door and dropped to the ground, then closed it discreetly, before rolling under the SUV.

"…A research for the plate: 335 Alpha Victor November. Registered in the Maryland." I vaguely heard him to ask on the radio.

I crawled up to the back of Chevrolet, losing my cap. I knew what would happen.

Boots slammed on the asphalt again, passed within three feet of me, before stopping.

"I have to ask you to come with me, sirs. This car is reported stolen..." He said, while I squatted behind the bumper. "Hey! Where is your friend?" He exclaimed, pointing his gun on Hannibal, as I got up with the Glock in my hand.

"Here." I answered, aiming at his head. "Get away from him."

I didn't believe in God, but I prayed with all my heart so that nobody comes down this road now. The officer slowly turned to me, and I saw in his eyes when he understood how much he was totally fucked.

"You… You are these two guys… The FBI profiler and…" He looked at Hannibal. "…the cannibal."

He had recognized us finally.

"Give me your gun."

He did this without resistance and I pointed it on his temple.

"Sorry about this." I said.

"No… No, wait!"

And I pulled the trigger.

…

Hannibal was behind the steering wheel again. He drove straight ahead, hands and jaw clenched.

"Was it really a good idea to leave him on the road?" He asked, after a long moment of heavy silence.

"Nothing has to connect us with this murder. It'll look like a traffic control that went wrong and a hit-and-run. And I shot him with his own gun."

"You forget the license plate. We have to get rid of this car, right now."

A road sign indicated Wardensville and he turned right, before slowing down a bit.

We entered into the city – if we could call it a city – and we avoided the main road, going further into in the surrounding forest. The wheels of the 4x4 bit the muddy path and we finally parked under cover of the treetops, before taking our bags and abandoning the car. They would eventually find it, but we'd be long gone.

We walked until the periphery of the municipality without seeing a single living soul. Wardensville was a lost village. Two hundred inhabitants, at the most. And we easily found a used car salesman. To leave a witness again wasn't ideal, but people from here lived far from the tumult of the big cities.

For a price, the bristly and toothless man agreed to sell us a black Jeep in good condition, without question. And we got back quickly on the road without a backward look. The race against time continued.


	10. Loving you forever, can't be wrong

**X**

 **Loving you forever, can't be wrong**

Night had fallen and the reassuring peace of the darkness embraced us again. I was driving, trying not to fall asleep. On my right, Hannibal rested, even though I knew he wasn't really asleep. The Jeep was more modern, spacious, better heated, with a larger tank and consumed less fuel. A good choice. I passed a road sign announcing Monterey, on the 220, with still enough gas left to get out of the state of Virginia. Even though we had seen other motorists on the road in the afternoon, none had been a police car. Earlier I had turned on the radio to hear the news. And, as I had hoped, they spoke of a hit-and-run, after a traffic control gone bad. Local journalists talked about the ongoing search for us too, before reciting a toll-free number for a hotline to leave tips for the investigators. According to the very vague information, they had said nothing to the press, or the investigation wasn't progressing. But we had no way of knowing. Were they on our tracks?

In doubt, we had to be very careful. But we couldn't avoid certain things and time wasn't on our side. It rained for two hours and the bitter cold kept us from sleeping in the car, or worse, in the wilderness. In the dead of night, the temperature dropped below freezing, forcing us to find a motel with the risk of being recognized, leading to the police catching us while sleeping. Then I thought of a very simple plan.

It was almost midnight and I drove on the road 92, alongside the river Knapp Creek. We'd just refueled the car. But as I felt about to drift asleep again, I decided to stop. I was going to drive to the village of Minnehaha Springs, when a road sign caught my attention. On the road 39, approximately three miles away, lay Huntersville, and the coincidence was too beautiful.

I approached the small town, when a motel suddenly appeared in the dark, on my left. The only one around here, probably. And this time, I burst into laughter while I was parking as far as possible from the reception, in the totally deserted parking lot. Hannibal opened his eyes and gave me a questioning gaze.

"Something funny?"

"Welcome to Devil's Backbone Inn, Huntersville's only motel."

He smirked, sharing in the irony of the situation.

"I am going to go to ask for a room, alone. Wait until I'm in the office, then sneak out of car, and wait for me over there." I said, pointing to the corner of the building, just in front of us, into the shadow.

"I prefer to do it myself…"

"No." I interrupted him, putting firmly a hand on his arm. "Unlike you, I look like an average Joe. The manager will not be wary of a single man. I just have to keep my head down and, in a few hours, he won't even be able to remember the color of my jacket or my hair. But for that, he mustn't see you."

He sighed in resignation.

"I don't like the idea of you going alone. But… fine."

I caressed his arm, before taking his hand.

"I'll be with you in a few minutes." _Don't worry_ , I wanted to add, but I didn't. "Just stay invisible like you usually do." I said instead, caressing his fingers, before opening my car door.

He nodded and I went out into the night. There were two floors and lights were all out. We'd be the only guests in the hotel. It could be a good thing or a bad one. We'd know soon enough.

I walked to the reception, hands in my pockets and cap on my head. When I opened the front door, a bell rang over my head and a fifty-year-old petite woman raised her green eyes to me from behind the counter behind which she was standing.

"Good evening" She said. "You're lucky, I'm about to close up." She slid a strand of hair behind her ear and leaned over the desk. "One room?"

"Please." I answered.

"Are you alone?"

"I'm to visit my parents, in Tennessee" I improvised.

"The young people who care about their parents are too rare these days. I hope you have a nice trip."

"Not too bad. It's a beautiful region."

She smiled.

"Have you an ID card?" She asked.

I gave her my passport and she noted my fake name on her register, before taking the key number 10 and putting it on the counter.

"Excuse me; is it possible to have a room on the ground floor?" I asked, looking embarrassed.

"It depends if you pay in advance."

And I understood she was afraid that I'd take advantage of it and leave without paying.

"Of course." I answered, pulling out some money from my pocket.

She cashed in and gave me the key to room number 9. The farthest room from here. Luck was on my side tonight.

"I'll let you sleep. Don't worry about me, I'll manage alone." I concluded, falsely friendly.

"I didn't dare ask it. Thank you and good night, Mr. Dancy."

"Good night."

I returned quietly to the car, when I had an idea. I waited until all the lights were off before opening the Jeep and releasing the handbrake. I turned the steering wheel to the right before pushing the car with all my strength. It hardly moved. Without question, Hannibal emerged from the shadows and helped me. Slowly and silently, we went around the building to under the window of our room, in front of a secondary road which sank into the forest behind the hotel.

"Our escape route." He said.

"Exactly." I approved, proud of my idea. "Wait here." I added, before running in front of the motel.

I opened the door of the room, entered without switching on the light and unlocked the window. Outside, Hannibal had already taken the initiative to get the bags out of the trunk and gave them to me one by one. Then he entered and I smiled, seeing him climbing over the window. He dusted his pants and gave me a questioning look.

"I feel as if I'm fourteen and trying to sneak my boyfriend in on the sly."

"You had boyfriends when you were fourteen?"

"Absolutely not, but that's what happens in the movies."

"I think we don't watch the same kind of movies."

I burst out laughing, seeing his disapproving face.

…

It was a new dreary room, with a bathroom equally murky, but I was too tired to pay it any attention. Hannibal made no comment either. After a quick shower, we went to bed snuggled up next to each other, resting fully clothed on the sheets, ready to flee the scene, if necessary. The night was going to be short.

…

The pale rays of the winter sun found us in each other's arms. No incident had disturbed our sleep but my stomach didn't leave me in peace. I was hungry for real food, not the junk food from the vending machine. Carefully, I got up, and immediately, I was cold without Hannibal's body against mine. I quickly got dressed and, before I went, I opened the drawer of the nightstand to take a notebook and a pen stored next to a Bible – totally blasphemous in view of the motel's name – to write a note concerning my whereabouts, in case he would wake up before my return. Then I went out the window, rather than the door. The manager certainly thought that I had already left and it was convenient for us.

I walked to the city center, staying under the cover of trees a few steps from the road. Once on the main street, I was hurrying towards the grocery store, my hands in my pockets and my head down. It was early and, in the small store, the boss and the cashier waited for their first customers. I said hello and took a basket before browsing the shelves. I seized sandwiches, beef jerky, a bag of Cheetos, a box of donuts, a lemon meringue pie and some apples. And a backpack to not use plastic bags. Hannibal was going to sulk, but gourmet meals wouldn't be on the menu for a while.

At the register, the young woman who had to be twenty years old, scanned the items, and I put them in my bag. The door opened again and out of the corner of my eye I noticed two policemen entering. Keeping a relaxed posture required a superhuman effort. My heart beat so fast in my chest, pulsed on my temples, against my eardrums. I wiped the sweat on my forehead. The agents passed behind me without paying any attention to me and spoke directly to the boss.

"Hello, Greg." Said one of the two. "Tell me, did you hear about the incident of yesterday on 48?"

"Are you kidding me? It's all we talk about. Not much happens around here." Answered the man named Greg, who wore a too small shirt.

"Then, maybe you can tell us about a Chevrolet 4x4 registered in Maryland."

"I haven't seen anything like that. But if this guy comes from the city, he had to sleep somewhere. Did you ask Gwen?"

Gwen had to be the manager of the motel. I acted as natural as possible and closed my bag, before paying.

"Thank you." I murmured, before walking slowly towards the exit.

"No, we were going to go to see her actually." I heard when I walked out of the store.

Once outside, I ran across the street and back to the hotel, like my life depended on it.

…

The cold air burned in my lungs, my legs hurt, but wild horses couldn't stop me. I was running fast as I could between the trees, nearly falling several times. Every minute counted and I finally got out of the forest, just behind the motel, without slowing down, before reaching the open window. In the rush, I almost broke a pane when I went back to the room. Inside, Hannibal packed up all our things. He was immediately worried about my behavior.

"In the car, now!" I shouted, taking a bag before throwing it outside.

Without asking for an explanation, he followed me, and a few seconds later, we were in the Jeep while other vehicles arrived in front of the building. We remained silent, while car doors slammed and boots scraped on the gravel of the parking lot in the quiet winter morning. We waited for a moment, to be sure that they were in the hotel, then Hannibal started the car and we went deep into the woods.

…

Our only option was to get back on the main road. Hoping the policemen would believe that we had left a long time ago and would search for us in Tennessee. I looked in the rearview mirror until I was sure they weren't following us.

"What happened?" Hannibal finally asked, after a few miles, putting a hand on my neck.

His touch calmed me and I released my breath, before telling him the last events. He listened to me, without a word, playing with my hair.

"It was a good idea, to park behind the motel. You saved us, Will."

"My stomach saved us." I said, laughing awkwardly. "Speaking of which…"

I opened the bag and took out the Cheetos, before eating a handful and offering it to Hannibal. Some chips fell at my feet and the way he looked at me, made me feel like a child who had made a mistake.

"Wha…? …am hungr…" I said with my mouth full.

He had a horrified expression on his face and I swallowed smiling to him innocently.

"Don't you like Cheetos? Everybody likes it, Hannibal."

"It is only some popped corn, flavored with powder cheese and hydrogenated fats."

"Maybe, but it's good." I sighed. "There's pie and some apples, if you want."

"Granny Smith?" He asked, interested.

"Yes." I replied. "But first, you are going to taste a Cheetos. For me." I added, giving him a chip.

I had expected him to refuse, but he surprised me when he took my fingers between his lips. The contact lasted only one second but the silky warmth of his tongue stayed on my skin. He chewed, with a focused expression, as if he wanted to register every nuance of the flavors.

"Like I said…"

"I get it." I interrupted him.

I gave him an apple which he accepted with gratitude, before biting into it. We sped ahead like the wind and nothing and no one could stop us. Or so I thought.


	11. When you find true love it lives on

**XI**

 **When you find true love it lives on**

We crossed Alabama. Our last night in a motel taught us a lesson. We had to be careful. Milder temperatures in this state had allowed us to sleep in the car, a couple hours. Well, "sleep" was a big word. But at least, we had eaten up the miles as if stop meant surrender. Just enough time to fill up the gas tank and buy food, then we left.

"I want to see the ocean." I sighed, offering my face to the sun through the open window.

"We'll going to be passing close to the beach." Answered Hannibal.

"When will we arrive to Mexico City?" I asked, trying not to feel as a kid who would be too impatient to arrive at Disney Land.

"We must cross Louisiana, Houston and the border."

"Say like that, it looks like we'll be there in one hour." I was joking.

"No. But, this evening, certainly. And it's for the best. It will be easier to enter in Mexico at night."

I approved, relieved that our escape comes to an end soon.

…

"Why didn't you let Alana kill me?" He asked suddenly, after several miles.

"I'm sorry? I thought I answered that question before."

"Not at all. You explained to me why you had come to the hospital this morning, and you tried to explain to me your reaction, but failed. If I remember correctly, your words were: "I don't know. I haven't really thought." And finally, you admitted to me that a part of you wanted to run away with me. But, none of this explains why overhear this conversation pushed you to act in this way."

I knew he was right, but kept a stubborn silence, for several minutes.

"Why do you want to know?"

"Answer my questions with other questions is not really something which works with me, Will."

I was thinking an eternity, staring the horizon. Then, decided finally to be honest.

"Your life belongs to me. The right … to kill you … belongs to me." I said, articulating every word, slowly.

He simply smiled.

"That's all I wanted to hear."

"Seriously? You don't have anything to add?"

"I vowed to eat you, one way or another, the second I saw you. My life belonged to you well before you are conscious of it. Just like yours belongs to me."

I smiled, thinking about our first meeting.

"Do you remember this morning, when you came into my hotel room with the breakfast?"

"How could I forget? You told me that you didn't find me that interesting."

I burst out laughing, remembering my boldness.

"And you answered me that I would."

"And that is exactly what happened." He snapped out the answer.

"I admit it." I agreed, remembering his pushy and presumptuous behavior when he had invited himself without asking me, just because he brought one of his home-made dishes… "Who was in my plate this morning?" His smile became more marked and his look challenged me to guess. "Cassie Boyle. I remember. The first crime scene you gave me. It's not the best flirtation technique, you know."

"Admit that it drew your attention more certainly than any poems or other banalities of the same kind"

"You became my white whale, just as I saw this dead girl in the middle of this field." I murmured.

"No, Will. You are Ishmael. The orphan, the exile, the outsider who wishes to flee the society where he feels alienated. The only survivor, when Moby Dick gobbles up the ship of Captain Ahab."

"Which makes Jack the Captain."

"Exactly."

…

We had just crossed Houston, on the 59, when, arrived near a city named El Campo, Hannibal suddenly turned left, on the 71.

"A shortcut?" I asked him, when he ignored the road sign which indicated our destination.

"Quite the opposite, in fact."

"A detour? But to where?"

In answer, he gave me his all-star mysterious look. And I decided not to insist and enjoy the surprise.

He drove for half an hour, when we reached the city of Palacios. We crossed the city center, to the end of a long avenue. It's when it blew up in my face. The ocean. Hannibal parked near a beach and went out, before going around the car to open my car door. His gallantry made me smile and roll my eyes.

"What are we doing here?"

"You said you wanted to see the ocean." He said. "So, _voila_."

"Thank you." I murmured, accepting his present without making a fuss, even if it profoundly touched me.

At this time of year, the place was almost deserted and I found myself alone in front nature's wrath. My shoes sank into the fine sand and I stopped when waves almost licked my feet, before sitting where the ground was more or less dry. Hannibal followed me, stood behind me for a while, before sitting down against my back. I settled comfortably between his legs and he embraced me. He put his chin on my shoulder, his hot breath came to tickle my cheek, and he tightened me against him.

We stayed like that an eternity, rocked by the flow of the swell, our faces swept by sea sprays, to watch the setting sun. Then, I turned on the side, crossed my legs over his thigh and rested my cheek against his chest. One of his hands caressed my hair disheveled by the sea breeze, the other one settled on my hip, his lips kissed my forehead, and I listened for a long time the quiet and regular beatings of his heart.

"Will it be possible to live near the beach, in Argentina?" I whispered.

" _On_ the beach."

"What do you mean?"

"The house that I own over there is on the beach. On stilts." He specified.

"Isn't it risky to take refuge in one of your properties? How many have you, anyway?"

"Some. But, none is really in my name. A man is in charge of maintaining this one in good condition, I warned him of our arrival. There will be no problem."

"When did you find the time to contact him?" I asked him, confused.

"I sent him a postcard."

"Sorry? A postcard?"

"Yes, two days ago, when we were in a gas station. The photo on the card gave him our location, the postmark, the date when we were there, and the text is a code. And I put gloves to write it. It will arrive at least a day before us, to give him the time to welcome us, and it's untraceable."

"I bow before so much ingenuity, Mr. Professional of the escape." I was ironic, really impressed despite myself.

"Yeah, mock me." He muttered in my neck, before biting me gently.

Laughter escaped me and he kissed me to shut me up. I returned him his embrace which, as often between us, quickly slid towards something more carnal. I was going to lengthen him on the sand, almost forgetting where we were, but he stopped me.

"We have to leave, _mano meilė_." He murmured against my lips.

"Is it Lithuanian?" I questioned him, while he got up, before helping me to do the same.

"Yes." He confirmed, in a concise way.

"And it means…?"

"What you mean to me."

And I knew, in the tone of his voice, that I would have nothing more that this abstract explanation, but respected nevertheless his modesty.

We went back to the car, walking side by side without saying a word, before getting back on the road.

…

We followed the seaside, on the 35, until Corpus Christi, when it began to get dark.

"We have about three hours drive before reaching the customs. Then, approximately thirteen hours to Mexico City."

"We can get some rest once in Mexico. We are exhausted."

He agreed and I turned on the radio to search for a station which broadcasted some music when, in the middle of the interferences, I heard clearly the name "Lecter". It wasn't a good sign that they speak about us on a local broadcast.

"…in the car found in the surroundings of Wardensville, West Virginia, and which belonged to the Sergeant Johnson's killer. The investigators are categorical. It is Hannibal Lecter's fingerprints the infamous cannibal killer who escaped from the psychiatric hospital of Baltimore, and Will Graham's, the FBI ex-profiler, who they suspect of being his accomplice. Both men are armed, extremely dangerous and untraceable for three days now. This is the first real lead, even if the modus operandi doesn't match to the habits of those whom the press calls _Murder Husbands_. The investigators already set up roadblocks, to prevent them from leave the coun…"

Hannibal turned off the radio, putting us in a deathly silence. By reflex, I took his hand, and I wondered how long I had this instinct, before taking a deep breath to calm down.

"What do we do?" I asked.

"We keep going. They didn't say where the roadblocks are. We'll improvise if we run into one of them."

I felt he didn't even believe it himself. But he had no need to be reassured with some smooth lines. It wasn't like me anyway. I preferred to remain silent and pray.

…

I thought Hannibal wasn't aware that he slowed down. I could almost hear his brain run at top speed. I was thinking all the possibilities myself. And, unfortunately, they were limited in number. Hole up somewhere deep in Texas was one. But how long before they find us? Of course, roadblocks would not stay eternally in position, but they were not quietly going to wait for us, all along the Rio Grande, until we showed up, and no one would accept to hide us. Turn back was another option, but with same risks. Not to mention that we could not drive forever. And try to set foot aboard a plane on American soil was suicidal.

Meanwhile, we drove inexorably towards the border and the walls were closing in on us. Then, at a bifurcation on the 509, Hannibal took suddenly the highway 77.

"Weren't we supposed to avoid highways?" I asked.

"Precisely. Perhaps they won't expect us on this way."

His reasoning balanced on the Occam's razor's edge. His solution was simple, of course. But wasn't it too much? Anyway, now that we were engaged on this road, there would be no exit before several miles. However, I had a bad feeling. Hannibal was calculating something, an idea which he didn't want to share with me for now. And that wasn't reassuring.

We drove for about twenty minutes, when we reached Brownville, the city which separated us to our goal. We crossed the last exit before the border. Close to thereon, we found ourselves blocked in a traffic jam. For no reason, traffic seemed slowed down.

While we waited, we could see red and blue lights rose in the dark sky. There could be no more doubts now. But it was too late. Unable to go back, we looked two agents slowly approached on each side of the road, car by car, with flashlight which they pointed on every driver. Too much fast, they were on us. The white beams got through the windscreen, blinding me a second. Then, Hannibal violently swerved, running an officer down, before engaging in the opposite direction on the emergency lane and rushing towards the exit. He brutally turned, tires screeched and I was pressed against the car door. Then, he accelerated, running through the streets. Behind us, sirens were sounding. Strangely, I was not panicking.

"They're gonna catch up to us." I simply said. "We have nowhere to go, Hannibal. There's no way out."

"There's one."

A road sign indicated the port of Brownville.

"Will you follow me?"

"Where you go, I'll go." I claimed, gripping his arm.

He nodded his head, accelerated again, crossed the port's entrance, broke up the barrier and, without slowing down, rushed at the end of a dock, right into the ocean.


	12. It's like a dark paradise

**XII**

 **It's like a dark paradise**

* * *

 **The New York Times**

Star-crossed lovers commit suicide

The escape of the infamous cannibal and his partner, Will Graham, came to a tragic end last night as the two men chose to drive their car into the port of Brownville, rather than leaving authorities catch them.

Interviewed by our special envoy, Molly Graham can't explain her husband's sudden decision to break Hannibal Lecter out of the Baltimore State Hospital for the Criminally Insane, which he had been committed to in response to a series of bloody murders. « […] our relationship wasn't perfect lately. We were going through a difficult period. But, I don't understand what could have to pushed him to do this. I still think Lecter manipulated him. […] » She said, while still recovering from her wounds, after being assaulted by Francis Dolarhyde AKA Tooth Fairy whom, it should be remembered, has been brutally murdered by Graham and Lecter. Just like Jack Crawford, the former director of the Behavioral Science Unit, whose funeral will be held this weekend. Still present, the FBI keeps on dredging the port to find the bodies which have probably been swept away by a current. The dispatched experts affirmed it's unlikely they survived.

* * *

 **The Baltimore Sun**

The end of a nightmare

Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham died last night, as a result of a police car chase gone awry at the Mexican border. Indeed, trapped by a roadblock and with no way out, they ran away towards the port of Brownville, before driving their car in the ocean. Referred to as _Murder Husbands_ by some, they finally chose to take another plunge, rather than spending the rest of their lives behind bars.

Doctor Alana Bloom, director of the Baltimore Hospital for the Criminally Insane, who is still under the guise of witness protection program with her wife Margot Verger and their son, has nevertheless accepted to give us a phone interview. « […] Hannibal Lecter has taken advantage of Will Graham's psychological weaknesses in the past, which has allowed him to penetrate deeply into his mind. Graham had managed to escape from his influence to build a family life. But, when he saw Lecter again, during the investigation of Francis Dolarhyde (Tooth Fairy – Ed.) this delicate balance was blown apart. Now, I greatly regret having supported Jack Crawford when he decided to persuade Graham to come out of his retirement for this case. […] » She said, devastated by the tragic loss of agent Crawford, as well as the deadly fate of her former colleague and friend, Will Graham. The investigation continues to precisely determine the role of the ex-profiler in the spectacular escape of Lecter.

* * *

 **TattleCrime**

Romeo and Juliet of crime

Yesterday evening, at the Mexican border, when the walls were closing on them, Hannibal Lecter and Will Graham AKA the _Murder Husbands_ , took the same path as the star-crossed lovers of the famous William Shakespeare's tragedy, choosing to die together rather than being separated and deprived of their freedom. This tragic end brings to a conclusion to a manhunt without mercy, littered with corpses, which has lasted three long days. Indeed, after they killed the now famous Francis Dolarhyde and brutally cut Jack Crawford's throat when he surprised them in Hannibal Lecter's house, they also left behind a widow and an orphan, Amanda and Luc Johnson, the wife and son of agent Johnson who was killed in the line of duty. Simon Miller, the owner of a gas station in West Virginia, remembers very well that night when the two men had come to refuel. « […] the APB had been broadcast on the television, but I missed it. When they entered, they looked like friends traveling together as we often have in this region. But looking back, I remember they carefully hid their faces. It was very late and I was tired. So I didn't pay much attention to them. When I think about that I referred them to the motel where they spent the night… I get chills every time I imagine what could have happened to poor Gary if he had recognized them. I can't believe I sent him killers as customers. […] » He said, hardly believing that he's still alive. At the time of writing, the FBI still has not found the bodies, and the involvement of Will Graham in this whole affair has yet to be clarified.

* * *

 _Buenos Aires, Argentina, three months later._

I opened my eyes in our bedroom, still plunged into darkness. A glance to the clock: six o'clock in the morning. I stretched slowly. Behind me, Hannibal's body radiated heat on my sweaty back. Subtropical climate required an adjustment period, but I had started to get used to the place. I pushed away the sheet with my foot and sat on the edge of the bed, rubbing my eyes, before standing and putting on boxers.

I moved toward the large kitchen, the heart of the house, which opened to a big dining room, so that our guests could see the chef at work. Well, when we'd have guests. Because, even if the Porteños certainly weren't the type to stick their noses in other people's business, we had to let some time go by. I entered the perfectly clean room, where everything had a place, and prepared a strong coffee, using a machine which looked more like a sculpture than a household appliance. Then, I added sugar and crossed the tastefully decorated living room, before opening the bay window with the most beautiful look over the ocean. The sea spray rushed through the opening, covering my chest with fine water drops, and I walked barefoot on the fresh and rough wood of the terrace. That's where I often watched the sunrise, leaning on the railing, a warm wind caressing my face. Rocked by the swell, eyes fixed on the horizon, hypnotized by the wave motion, I was lost in my thought.

Buenos Aires seemed to have been created for Hannibal, and only for him. With the _Teatro Colón_ – one of the five greatest opera houses in the world, in his opinion – and a hundred museums dedicated to Spanish-American art, cinema or national history, not to mention architecture, gastronomy and dance. Even if we still were careful with our external relations, nothing could have stopped him from showing me around the city, taking me out for dinner, to visit some art galleries or exhibitions, to complete my culture. He always spoke about it with such passion that I gladly followed him. After three years of isolation, I couldn't really blame him. Living alone wasn't in his nature, unlike me, and art had always been a significant part of his life. Not to mention that, for the same reasons that we didn't have contact with a lot of people, Hannibal hadn't killed anyone since we arrived. And as witnessed by the small collection of business card which accumulated in a box, on the kitchen counter, he wouldn't be able to bear this situation much longer.

To be honest, I had to admit that even if I didn't share his appetite, I missed it too. A few days previous, while shopping in the neighborhood of _Almagro_ we met with this butcher. I may not speak a word of Spanish, but I was able to recognize an insult when I heard one. Hannibal was very good at playing the tourist who didn't understand – while, of course, he was polyglot – which encouraged the local traders not to mince their words. Some of them clearly didn't like strangers and this one deserved to end up in his own storefront. Or in our fridge. That would happen in the near future.

I was still surprised not to feel this emotional instability which had characterized me before. It hadn't faded yet, but embracing my true nature gave me the balance which I'd been searching for all my life. My gift of empathy found utility in a way that didn't destroy my psyche anymore. And even if I was a bit feverish sometimes, I had my first nights without nightmare for ages.

The only true contact that I had with the outside was Rodrigue. The man Hannibal told me about and who took care of the house. Forty years old, man of few words, he never asked any questions and called us " _Señor_ " when he came. But he spoke correct English that allowed us to communicate and I had a special affection for him, because he didn't judge my relationship with Hannibal – he would have been blind not to see that we were more than friends – but I hadn't seen him for a week and it was starting to worry me, even if Hannibal seemed relaxed. I suspected that he planned something. I didn't know what, but there was this empty room in the house.

Since we'd moved in, he'd insisted on leaving one of the possible guest rooms or laundry rooms empty for some reason. And I temporarily gave up trying to understand, because despite my insistent questions, he avoided the subject. Most of the time, by silencing me in the most delectable ways.

This devouring desire that I felt for Hannibal when he touched me, still confused me deeply. He never really considered my aversion to physical contact. Since we knew each other, every time he could, he got close to me, invaded my personal space, smelled me, brushed by me, or put his hands on me more frankly, without ambiguity. As if, somehow, he couldn't help himself. And this desire kept crawling under my skin. However, our bond went beyond a carnal relationship. We could sit for hours in the same room, simply breathing the same air, enjoying the presence of the other, each going about his business, until he gave me a look or made a move that always awakened this hunger in me. The stag. Symbol of life, power, virility, longevity, strength and insatiable sexuality. Hannibal was a stag. The one in my dreams that I always saw by my side, guiding me. Beastly and beautiful.

I heard the sound of his footsteps behind me, hooves hammering the wood of the terrace. His presence reached me before his hands on my hips and his lips on my neck, and the need burned in my belly again.

"Good morning," he whispered in my ear.

I put my cup on the railing.

"Hello," I softly answered, turning my head to kiss him.

I found pleasure in the taste of his kisses, the haunting smell of his skin, the bite of his teeth and the strength of his hands. Between us, even the tenderest gestures were tinged with violence. I fully turned toward him and he pushed me against the railing, before raising me on it. My legs wrapped around his waist, I held him tight. Eagerly, I snuggled against his body dressed in a deep blue silk dressing gown and I untangled the belt to slip my hands under the fabric. He sighed on my lips and I tightened my grip on him to bring him closer to me. His hands caressed my back, his nails gently scratched my neck and his fingers tangled my hair. Our erections pressed against each other through our underwear, our erratic breaths mingled together, sweat covered my skin. Then, Hannibal kissed me gently, before leaning his forehead against mine. If I didn't know him, I could swear that he was nervous.

I came down from my perch and I was going question him, when I heard a car which approached on the beach. Rodrigue was back and his timing was very bad, but I was relieved when I saw he was all right. Hannibal looked at me with a strange smirk and suddenly, a noise, that I thought never to hear again, rushed through the opened car door. My heart sank, I felt a lump in my throat and I dared not to move for a second. Then, I looked up at the beach and saw Winston running on the sand. The first tear surprised me, when Buster came and rubbed up against my leg. The second slowly felled down my cheek, followed by a third and a fourth and I didn't count them anymore, preferring to squat and bury my face in their bristly hair.

Seated on the floor, surrounded by all my dogs, I saw Rodrigue joining us and pocketing an envelope which Hannibal gave him.

"Do you have a good trip?" Asked Hannibal.

" _Si, Señor._ The _señora_ wanted to move with _el niño_ and couldn't keep _los perros_. She was glad that a buyer to respond to her ad."

"As I expected. _Gracias_ , Rodrigue."

Then, the man said goodbye and left us alone. Hannibal helped me up and embraced me, and I tightened him against me with all my strength.

"You gave me my dogs back," I whispered.

Then, I realized an important thing and looked into his eyes.

"The empty room… You've been planning this all along!"

"There is no way I find dog hair on our bed or the couch. You can use this room as you please, it is for them and this is where they will sleep. Moreover, they are free to go where they want."

I was open-mouthed a few seconds.

"But... You don't like dogs."

"I do not remember having said such a thing. I do not approve the cruelty to animals and everybody knows what dog shelters looks like.

"I see. So you did this out of the goodness of your heart," I was ironic, smiling.

"Exactly," He dared to claim, opening the bay window to come inside.

"Hannibal," I called him. He paused, continuing to turn his back on me. "I love you too."

And he disappeared into the kitchen.


	13. Anatomical and metaphysical

**XIII**

 **Anatomical and metaphysical**

 **Notes:** Some fluff and smut ^^ Enjoy!

* * *

The cobbled streets of _San Telmo_ seemed constantly lively. I melted into the crowd of the oldest neighborhood of Buenos Aires, walking past the hundred-year-old churches, museum and antique shops. It was definitely one of Hannibal's favorite places. For this reason, I walked alone there that day. If there was one thing he didn't like to celebrate, it was his birthday. He would, in fact, not even reveal the date to me. But, I still had three hundred and sixty-four more days available to me. And today, while he was in town to look for a job at the _Museo Nacional de Bellas Artes_ – the National Museum of Fine Arts – I impulsively decided to go looking for a gift. It had to be equal to the present he gave me last month. My dogs. I thanked him many times for it, but I wanted something special, something big that would mean something to us.

I finally ended up at the _Plaza Dorrego_ , with its cafés and restaurants. It was Sunday and the _Feria de San Telmo_ – a semi-permanent antique fair – took place at the square overrun with stalls and curiosities for the occasion. Everywhere you looked, there were people sitting outside the cafés, devilish demonstrations of Argentine tango, bright colors and scents of old books, spice, paint and varnished wood.

The square was full of people and that terrified me for a while. I was unable to focus on anything because everything was in constant motion, when suddenly my eyes were drawn to familiar shapes, harmonious shades, and it was like coming home. Hypnotized by the lines, downstrokes and upstrokes, as if the painting was alive, I approached the stand. An old man was painting, as if he was possessed, a pretty impressive reproduction of a Vermeer, which I had been able to see with my own eyes, in a museum, with Hannibal. _Girl with a Pearl Earring_ , I thought.

" _Buenos días_ ," I said to get his attention.

He didn't answer immediately, so that I thought he just hadn't heard me, but he applied the last stroke of the brush at the curve of a lip, before turning to me.

" _Buenos días, Señor. ¿qué puedo hacer por usted?"_

I clumsily asked him if he spoke English and he answered me affirmatively, even if he only knew expressions of common usage.

"How much for this one?" I asked, pointing the painting I chose.

"With _el marco?"_ He asked, putting his hand on the beautiful gold frame.

" _Si,_ " I answered, nodding my head.

"2000 pesos."

I didn't know if it was a lot of money, and actually, I didn't care a bit. I already made up my mind.

"And, uh… It's a _regalo_ , if you could... You know..." I faltered, mimicking someone gift-wrapping it.

"Oh! _Si, si_! Is it for your _novia?"_

"My what?"

"You know… Girlfriend."

"Kind of…" I murmured.

" _Qué?"_

"Uh… _Si_ , it's for my _novia,"_ I approved, trying not to laugh.

He carefully packed the painting in Kraft paper. The result was not really beautiful, but the receptacle didn't matter; only the contents were really important. I warmly thanked him and left with my large packet under my arm. Then, I decided to go home and took the crowded subway, despite my dislike for public transport.

…

I was therefore relieved when I finally arrived. _At our house_. It always seemed so strange to me and yet so natural. See him every morning would not stop amazing me for a long time.

I opened the door and entered the house before putting the packet against the wall with caution. The dogs rushed on me and I let them go out. Then, I heard the sounds of the harpsichord. The Goldberg Variations by Johann Sebastian Bach. So, Hannibal came back. I removed my shoes and walked up to the living room, before freezing in the doorway of the large room.

On the white couch, Hannibal slept. He was lying on his back, resting his head on the armrest, with his clothes on and no shoes. He seemed totally peaceful. I wasn't surprised because I had already observed him in his sleep. But, Buster curled up on Hannibal's stomach, rocked by the regular movement of his breathing, left me speechless. The scene deserved to be painted, but I would just take a picture. I took out my phone and opened the camera application, before getting close on tiptoes to frame my photo.

"If you push the button, I'll make you pay for it, Will," he muttered, without opening his eyes.

A shiver ran down my spine. The threat was real but it wasn't at the same time. His imagination was limitless when he wanted to make me lose my mind.

 _Click._

He opened his brown eyes and looked me. His gaze gave me the impression that my insides were liquid.

"Oops, my finger slipped. These devices are _so_ sensitive," I said innocently, trying not to laugh.

Buster looked at us attentively, before deciding to join his counterparts on the beach. Hannibal stood up before dusting his blood-red shirt, and even that gesture was erotic. Then, he raised his eyes on me.

"If you play, you pay."

And a heat wave ran through me.

…

He pushed me on the bed before undressing me, biting my uncovered skin. I unbuttoned his shirt, resisting the urge to rip out the tiny buttons, and took his pants off. Once we were naked, he took my wrist together in his hand and held them above my head, lying down between my legs and burying his nose in my neck.

"Do not move," he murmured, before releasing me.

I was able to recognize an order when I heard one, but refused to obey. I'd come to understand that Hannibal didn't like docility or capitulation. Even if he tried to dominate me totally, he expected only one thing from me: combativeness, the power relationship. Make it easy for him would be boring.

So, my hands grasped his hair, slid on his neck and scratched his back, while he kissed my chest, until he firmly blocked my forearms along my flanks. He clamped one of my nipples between his teeth, strong enough to make me moan but not really to hurt me, as a warning, before licking it and kissing my belly. When he reached my groin, I arched my back and crossed my legs around his neck. He nibbled my sensitive skin, licked my cock over its length and crawled on my body to kiss me. All his gestures were filled with sweet violence and soft brutality that slowly broke up my self-control, to the point that I didn't know where my body ended and where his began. In his arms, I felt venerated.

When I just needed to look into his eyes to know what he wanted, he smelt every subtle nuance of my scent, listened to every tone of my voice, felt the shivers on my skin, and seemed to deduce where to touch me to play a symphony with my vocal chords, a requiem for a madman.

Then, he took possession of me and I absorbed him entirely, drinking his sighs, feeding his rough hip thrusts. He pinned me to the bed, devoured me with kisses, bit my shoulder, scratched my skin, and Bach played in harmony with his movements. I thought he was beautiful, magnificent, when the shadow of stag antlers took shape on the ceiling. I caressed his tensed muscles, his collarbones on his chest and his neck, scratched his back, almost suffocated in the heat of his embrace and the intensity of the pleasure that rose in destructive waves, while he took my cock in his hand to stroke it, until I came on my belly. And I turned to mush on the mattress while he came deep in me, before embracing me. He licked the marks that he left on my skin, caressed my sweaty hair, then he lay down by my side, and I lay my head against his heart.

The peace and quiet returned in my mind, my heartbeat calmed down and we stayed that way an eternity, satisfied for a while and rocked by the music that floated in the bedroom.

"You will delete this picture, Will," he murmured, his nose buried in my neck.

"Certainly not, I was thinking more like print and frame it in our dining room, for all our guests could see how much you can be a cutie pie," I teased him.

"I will kill every person who will make the mistake of seeing this photo."

I burst into laughter because he could do it, and he smiled.

"Where were you?" He asked me.

"In _San Telmo_. I bought you a present."

I could see curiosity in his eyes.

"What is the occasion?"

"You gave me my dogs back. I wanted to bring something you love from your past too."

Cut to the quick, he stood up and put on a dressing gown. Excited, I put on my jean and followed him.

"In the lobby," I said unnecessarily because he had already found it.

"Do you offer me a painting?" He guessed because of the shape of the packet, before carrying it to the living room.

I followed in his footsteps.

"Open it and you will see," I answered maliciously.

He didn't need to be asked twice and even seemed to enjoy ripping the paper, before freezing by recognizing the painting. And then he gave me an indefinable gaze.

"Don't say a word and hang it where you want," I invited him.

He looked all around the room, before settled on the wall opposite the sofa and took down the painting that was there to replace it with the Primavera. Then, he stood back, sat down in the sofa and admired it. I took my place on his right, following suit.

"It's just a copy, of course..."

"It is perfect, Will, thank you," he whispered in a low voice.

We admired together for a long time the masterpiece that had been the only witness of our reunion in Florence.

"You know, if I saw you every day, forever, Hannibal, it is this time I would remember."

In response, he took me in his arms and I snuggled on his chest. The dogs came back from their walk and overran the living room. Winston lay down at my feet and Buster jumped on Hannibal's knees.

"No dog hair on the sofa, right?" I mocked.

He smiled, still staring at the painting. I closed my eyes, my cheek against his heart, and stroked the curled up Jack Russell, rocked by Bach.


	14. Love Crime

**XIV**

 **Love crime**

 **Notes:** Sorry for the delay, I was very busy. I hope you'll like this chapter ;)

I thank Astridu, my friend and beta. I was happy to finally meet you.  
Enjoy!

* * *

Since I was able to see Hannibal as he really was, I collected countless numbers of information about his posture, the way he talked and gesture. And that morning, while I was wallowing on our bed, watching him as he dressed, I was amazed at being able to clearly see that he was on the hunt, just by the way he buttoned his white shirt, the color of his eyes and the smirk on his thin lips. In the full-length mirror, his reflection gave me an unequivocal look. He knew I understood, and he was pleased about it. Hannibal enjoyed my instinctive understanding of his complex mind. That was what he had always wanted and never found.

"We need fresh meat for tomorrow's dinner," he said, putting on his beige linen pants.

I remembered then that he had invited the curator for the Museum of Fine Arts of Buenos Aires, and his wife. The man quickly gave Hannibal a job within the museum's library because of his skills.

"I guess you're going to revisit that butcher from _Almagro_ ,"

"You are reading my mind, Will. We have an obligation to welcome our guests properly."

"Of course. Should I come with you?"

"Only if you want to."

I knew he left me the choice because he wanted my total and absolute consent, and that, even if he'd be disappointed if I refused, wouldn't be upset with me.

"Just let me take a shower," I answered, before standing and going to the bathroom, noting that he was smiling all the more.

…

We got in our car. One of these modern crossovers, which were adapted as well to the city as to the countryside, with a lot of gadgets that seemed useless to me. But I had to admit that the spacious inside and the leather seats were very nice and cosy. Hannibal started the car and drove downtown.

The neighborhood of _Almagro_ wasn't really a tourist area, per se, but rather popular and densely populated. There were local and authentic shops, far away from the supermarkets that had invaded the capital over the last few years. We did some shopping first: aromatic herbs and spices, shallots, beets, some Granny Smith and bread. We also went to a fish market and Hannibal ordered a seafood platter for the next day.

I enjoyed walking the streets with him. Mainly because it was easy. No need to hold hands or to kiss. All these social conventions, which had always made me very uncomfortable in public, didn't exist between us. We walked naturally side by side, in complete coordination as if our hearts beat in unison, very close but without touching.

After putting the grocery bags in the car, we strolled through the city until evening. Then, we took some stuff in the trunk and, wrapped in the comforting darkness of the nightfall, we easily found our way to the butcher's shop that was about to close. By the storefront, a stray dog drooled over the meat. The poor thing seemed starving. I gave a look to Hannibal and he rolled his eyes. He was about to say something when the butcher came out and kicked the dog, screaming insults in Spanish that I didn't understand.

"Hey!" I exclaimed, while the dog ran away.

" _Qué_?"

"He didn't do anything to you!"

The fat man kept shouting in Spanish, waving his hands, and I had no need to translate " _hijo de puta_." Hannibal approached him and put a hand on his shoulder, speaking the same language in a calm and firm voice. He found the right words, the douchebag calmed down and followed him inside the shop. I looked around the street to be sure that nobody paid any attention to us, but the sidewalk was empty. So I joined them.

In the shop, they kept talking. I didn't understand what they said but analyzed their body language. Hannibal's hand was on man's neck and he talked to him, dominating him. Visibly ill-at-ease, the merchant didn't dare to contradict him and led him behind the counter, into the back room. I noticed then the key that the man had left in the door, and put on gloves to close the store before lowering the iron curtain and pocketing the keyring.

I entered the cramped room with filthy white walls and work plans covered in dried blood. On the dirty floor, there was a gully grate that was going to be useful to us.

"Will, what do you think? We are in a butcher's shop and our new friend is no better than a pig. Are we going to hang him by his feet from one of the meat hook to let him bleed out on the tiles?" Hannibal asked me, smiling.

"I think I like your ideas."

And the butcher seemed to finally realize he was in trouble.

…

The man swung at the end of the hook, dead for a few minutes. Under his head, blood slowly flowed out. We'd had a hard time subduing him, even though we were two. But, we had already defeated a dragon. An Argentinian pig, no matter how big, would not defeat us.

Dressed in a plastic suit over his clothes, Hannibal removed some organs and a thigh muscle. In the same outfit, I took a meat cleaver and squatted in front of the corpse to decapitate our victim, before taking the head and going back to the shop. Then, I opened the display case and put it in a place of honor, between the rump steak and the ribs.

"Even then, he is not a good ornament," Hannibal said, over my shoulder, and I laughed. "We can go home."

"That's it?" I asked him, pointing his bag.

"I only take what I need."

"If I don't go back with something for the dogs, they're going to be mad at me."

In response, he handed me his knife with a wicked smile on his face.

…

I fell asleep in the car on the way home. Hannibal woke me with a sweet caress to my hair, before getting out of the vehicle with the groceries, and I followed him, taking our bag from the back seat. It was late at night and the ocean was black as ink under the full moon. In the darkness, the house seemed quiet, until Hannibal opened the door. Then, an army of hairballs came at us and he had to raise the grocery bags above his head. I calmed them with a whistle and they ran towards the beach to stretch their legs.

We removed our shoes and I left Hannibal in the kitchen to go to the bathroom. I turned on the taps of the large and black bathtub rounded as an egg, which was in the middle of the room, before taking my clothes off. Little by little, the steam and the scent of essential oils, which I put into the warm water, filled the room tastefully furnished with two sinks, a big mirror and a walk-in shower in a corner.

Hannibal joined me, put a hand on my neck, scratched my skin gently with his nails, caressed my back, and a shiver ran down my spine. He got undressed and put his arms around me, until the bathtub was filled. Then, he turned off the taps and lay down in the water. I took my place between his legs with my back to him and leaned against his chest. The bathtub almost overflowed. He seized a natural sponge and soap from a little cabinet and started to wash me. The water became tinged pink, because of the blood on my face.

We had bathed together before, but always as a prelude to our intimate moments. Never after a murder. Never in this cosy atmosphere, like had we just made love for hours. I felt like I floated and let him take care of me. Meticulously, he cleaned every part of my body before I did the same for him. The sponge slid over his broad shoulders, his arms and torso. I kissed him and sat down against his chest. Then, we stayed that way until the water got colder.

…

The next day, I spent the morning on the beach with the dogs, enjoying the end of summer months. Here, winter began in May and ended in September. Hannibal gazed at us, listening to Mozart, with a sketchbook and a pencil in his hands. I thought he drew a landscape from memory. Florence, maybe, or somewhere else. But at about 2 pm, when the delivery man came with the seafood platter, Hannibal left his sketch on his chair to receive the order, and I could see a drawing of me and the dogs, running in the sand in front of the ocean.

Hannibal set to work in the kitchen, with Vivaldi's Four Seasons playing in the background. I perched on one of the stools around the central island and contemplated the show. Carefully, he removed the nerves and the fat from the meat and cut it into small dice with a carefully sharpened knife, before putting it in a bowl. Then, he finely chopped chives, a shallot and some spring onions, before mixing it with the meat and seasoning with lemon juice, salt and pepper. And he put the tartare in the fridge.

"Is there anything I can do?" I offered, in despite of my poor skills in this field.

"You can wash and chop the chervil," he answered, handing me a bushy bunch.

I did it, while he got a new container out of a cupboard, which he filled with a lot of extra virgin olive oil, before taking the knife and cutting another piece of meat into very thin slices.

"Add the chervil to the olive oil."

I followed the instructions and he put the meat in the marinade. Then, he gave me a shallot, which I peeled and sliced, while he got other ingredients out of the fridge.

"Apples and beets?" I asked, skeptical.

"The beet is sweet and go well with the acidity of the Granny Smith," he said, sure of himself, before dicing them.

Then, he made another tartare with the heart.

"Is it a raw menu?" I questioned him.

"Precisely. Do you know how to open the oysters?"

"Yes."

"Three per person should be enough," he told me, handed me the oyster-knife. "Remove the water and put them on absorbent paper."

I did exactly what he said, while he preheated the oven and sliced the bread before toasting it. Then, he put the mollusks in the blender, mixed all the ingredients and seasoned them with a few drops of Tabasco. And, he arranged the meat slices on a plate and spread a spoonful of the mixture on each of them, before rolling them up.

"In the drawer behind you, there are tooth picks," he told me, and I seized them, before skewering each roll to hold them in place.

"What do we do now?"

"There is a tiramisu. So, we have finished for now," he answered, satisfied, before putting the dish in the fridge and cleaning the kitchen.

…

Lucas González and his wife Sofia arrived fifteen minutes late. I knew Hannibal well enough to see that it annoyed him a lot, but he was too polite to make a comment. He wore one of his fantastic suits that looked good only on him, whereas I remained sober. I welcomed our guests, while Hannibal garnished the dishes in the kitchen. The dogs were in their room and they wouldn't disturb us.

The couple was charming at first glance. Him: fifty years old, salt and pepper hair and tiny brown eyes sunken in their sockets. Her: about forty five years old, long and curly brown hair that cascaded down her shoulders, and intense green eyes. We sat down at the table and Hannibal served the wine, before bringing the plates.

"As a starter, _tartare de veau_ ," Hannibal presented, before sitting on my right, in front of our guests.

"That looks delicious," Sofia complimented.

" _Buen provecho_."

At the beginning of the dinner, the discussion was about Hannibal's new job and Lucas's expectations for the coming months. He hoped to expose some new masterpieces. I was only half-listening without really participating. Then, Hannibal stood up to serve the main course and I helped him to clear the table.

"I think they're a bit pretentious," I whispered, putting the plates in the dishwasher.

"They are rich and influential. I expected no less from them. But, it is a great opportunity to figure them among my acquaintances for now," he answered, preparing the next dish.

"I know, but there's something about them that bothers me and I can't put my finger on it."

"I know what you mean," he confirmed, going out the kitchen.

I assisted him in the service.

"Beef _roulade_ and _tartare d'huîtres_ with _pommes vertes et betteraves en salade_ ," he presented again, before sitting back down.

"You're spoiling us, it's delicious. Where do you buy your meat?" Sofia asked.

I stuck my nose into my glass and let Hannibal answer the question.

"A magician never reveals his secrets."

Lucas roared with laughter.

"You're absolutely right," he approved. "You have to keep a little mystery." Hannibal smiled. "And speaking of mystery, that's very generous of you to accommodate your charming friend, but aren't you afraid that people talk behind your back?"

"I'm not following you," Hannibal said, even though I could see clearly his back suddenly stiffened.

Indeed, he introduced me as an old friend, newly arrived from United States, and I followed the movement, curious to know why.

"I admit me neither," I added.

Lucas seemed uncomfortable and the atmosphere became a little awkward.

"I mean... You know, two men in the prime of life, living under the same roof... The house is big, but people here have nothing else to do than gossip. Some of them might think you are... _maricas_."

Hannibal froze for a few seconds, his fork between his plate and his mouth, staring at our guest with contempt.

"I would appreciate it if you were not rude at my table, Mister González."

"I apologize," he answered immediately. "No offense intended. That's a bad choice of word and I don't imply that you are, of course, but I warn you."

"What does _maricas_ mean?" I asked.

"In more polite terms: homosexual," Hannibal told me.

"I see. You're afraid that people think we're in couple," I said to Lucas, with a smirk.

"I know you're not, but it would be unfortunate if anyone supposed that I hire that kind of person."

"Of course, Mister González. We will ensure that this situation does not drag on too long." Lucas seemed eased. "May I ask for your business card, please, for my records?" Hannibal asked suddenly.

"Yes, sure," Lucas answered, a bit surprised.

He got a little case out his jacket pocket and Hannibal pocketed a card. Then, the dinner carried on in a quieter atmosphere.

…

They left late in the evening, promising to talk to their friends about Hannibal's culinary skills. Once the door closed, I lost my forced smile, leaving the dogs out of their room.

"What are we going to do about this son of a bitch?" I asked, slumping on the couch in the living room.

The sight of the Primavera calmed me.

" _Tout vient à point à qui sait attendre_ , Will," he said, sitting down by my side.

"Which means?"

"All things come to him who waits."

"I like rare meat," I replied, putting my head on his thighs.

He laughed quietly.

"The longer we wait, the intense the pleasure will be."

His fingers ran through my hair, caressed my neck, and I nestled against him, impatient.


	15. I will survive, live and thrive

**XV**

 **I will survive, live and thrive**

 **Notes:** A chapter where Will likes to play a dangerous game with Hannibal. It's not the first time and it will not be the last.

Enjoy!

* * *

Hannibal started work the day after the dinner with Lucas and his wife. And he was pleased about it. A great library filled only with books about art. This study and authentication work was as if made for him. Besides, he talked about it every evening with so much passion that I could only let his enthusiasm wash over me. However, I was annoyed to have almost nothing to say in response. My first days all alone at home had passed slowly, without being unpleasant. I was busy, after all. But, soon it wasn't enough anymore and I had to face the facts: I was bored when he wasn't there. I missed him. Having a job had always been necessary to my balance. Cop, teacher, profiler or something else, whatever, I was open to anything. I had to deal with the language barrier, which made my antisocial tendencies worse, even if my Spanish was getting better. And I decided to find a job where I would not have to speak too much.

Sport had never really been one of my favorite hobbies. But, I didn't want to let myself go, especially after the radical changes in my diet. Hannibal cooked every day for both of us and seemed unable to make it simple. If I didn't want to get fat, I had to exercise outside of our bed. Running on the sandy beach was difficult and exhausting, but I went a little further every day and my dogs were happy to come with me.

I stepped out, this morning, after Hannibal left, with sportswear and a water bottle, greeting Agustina in passing, Rodrigue's wife who came do the housework twice a week. Weather was still good and, quickly, I got sweaty.

Short of breath, I lengthened my stride and went further than usual, discovering a new spot on the beach, before slowing down and stopping. Folded in half, I caught my breath and took a sip of water. I was about to go home, when the dogs ran away in another direction. I followed them, my feet burying in the sand, until I reached a ground path leading to a wire fence. My dogs were there, barking and agitated. On the other side, there were many other dogs, of all sizes, breeds and colors. They seemed happy to see new friends. On my right, I noticed a portal with a sign indicating an animal shelter I didn't know anything about.

" _Dios mío!_ Do they belong all to you?" A woman's voice asked me.

It was a young woman I have never seen before.

"Yes. I have a kind of obsession with these animals," I replied, getting closer.

She was quite pretty. Brown short hair, sparkling hazel eyes, a friendly smile, she radiated happiness and sympathy.

"Do you want to take one more?"

The question made me laugh.

"I live with someone and he might not appreciate the idea. He already makes efforts to tolerate those, although I'm sure he likes them actually." She seemed disappointed, so I took a chance. "But, if you have a job for me, I'm interested. We live here for a few months and I need to work."

"Are you serious?" She was surprised.

"Absolutely."

"We have difficulties to find people sensitive to the cause. Stray dogs present not only a nuisance but also a risk to public sanitation and safety in Buenos Aires. They live in freedom, scavenge through the garbage, reproduce like rats and are aggressive sometimes. So, I hope you're not kidding, because there's a lot of work to be done here."

Her skin was caramel-colored and she talked with a slight American accent. I deduced that she had lived in the United States for a while, before joining her family here.

"I'm not kidding. I really need something to do and I don't need money," I said, noticing the disrepair of the place.

"I can't afford to pay you very much anyway. It's hard enough to stay afloat. But, if you are motivated, it will be my pleasure, Mister...?"

"Dancy. But you can call me Will," I answered.

"Nice to meet you, Will. I'm Daniela."

I got my arm through the fence to shake her hand.

"When can you start?" She asked.

"Tomorrow, if it's okay with you."

"Perfect. 8 am tomorrow."

We talked a bit more about tasks and everyday life in the shelter, then I said goodbye and ran back home.

When I closed the door behind me, it was almost lunchtime and Hannibal would be back soon. I left my shoes in the lobby and went straight to the bathroom, while the dogs raced into their room. I took my clothes off and put them in the laundry basket, before entering the shower stall. The warm water relaxed my muscles and I lost all notion of time, until the shower door opened. I turned around, surprised, to face Hannibal fully naked. I hadn't heard him enter, nor undress. Without a word, I moved aside and he joined me.

"Shouldn't you hurry up and eat your lunch?" I asked him, rubbing the bath sponge on his torso.

"I took the rest of the day off."

I raised an eyebrow, skeptical, washing his neck and shoulders.

"Tired of books already?" I joked, knowing perfectly well that it wasn't true.

He didn't answer, but poured shampoo on my head, before massaging my scalp.

"Or maybe you missed me?" I whispered, closing my eyes.

I sensed a slight hesitation in his gestures, as he froze up for a second. Then, he rinsed my hair, before kissing me. I wrapped my arms around his neck and cuddled up to him, kissing him back.

"I am concerned that you are bored, home alone," he admitted, going out the shower.

I followed him and he gave me a towel, which I dried myself with and tied it around my waist.

"Do you know that there's a dog shelter, a little further on the coast?" I questioned him, without warning to destabilize him.

And it worked, because he was unable to hide totally his surprise.

"Of course you knew," I concluded, walking past him to leave the room.

He followed in my footsteps in the bedroom and I got clean clothes out of the closet, before putting them on the bed and put boxers on.

"Maybe were you afraid that I adopt them all?" I mocked him, smiling.

"Something like that," he confessed, taking me in his arms from behind.

He kissed my shoulders and the back of my neck. I knew very well that he wanted me and he came home because of this, even if he wouldn't admit it. But I intended to tease him.

"For want of a house filled with dogs, I chose to work at the shelter," I said, getting away to put my pants on.

Then, I went in the kitchen, barefoot and shirtless. His kingdom, which he agreed to share with me, in his infinite wisdom, to allow me to make meal for the dogs, while he cooked for us. He followed suit and opened the fridge, refusing to react openly to my decision.

"So, you see, you don't have to take days off anymore. I won't be bored with Daniela."

The fridge door slammed stronger than usual and I hid a smile, squatting under the sink to take dog bowls.

"Who is Daniela?" He couldn't help but ask.

"The woman who hired me. She's quite charming, polite and very friendly," I replied, getting offal out of the fridge, while he put his ingredients on the kitchen counter.

"Really?"

I was always amazed by his ability to say a simple word with such contempt.

"Jealous, Doctor Lecter?" I annoyed him, smiling. "The last time I saw this expression on your face, I had just told you that I kissed Alana."

I knew that Hannibal enjoyed our verbal jousting. Mainly because I was able to feel when I had to stop. The moment came when I noticed a metallic flash in his eyes. I got closer, slowly, and put a hand on his cheek.

"She doesn't hold a candle to you. She'll never know me as you do. I'm just excited about to work with my dogs and a pleasant person," I said sincerely. "Honestly, I don't know how you can tolerate Mister Lucas 'no offense' González every day," I added, miming quotation marks with my fingers.

The pun made him smirk and it was already a victory. So, I saw to cooking meat and he prepared the meal. Then, I put the bowls on the floor and the dogs gobbled down their food. I looked at them, amused, while Hannibal got the cuttlery out of a cupboard and set the table.

"Sometimes, I wonder if there's a risk that they may become aggressive, because of the meat," I said thoughtfully.

"Towards you? Definitely not," he contradicted me with confidence.

"What makes you so sure of that?" I asked, leaning on the counter.

"You are their pack leader."

"I never thought of it that way before," I answered.

"You take care of them and you share your hunting with them. They see you as an Alpha male. And they accept me because you do," he developed.

I stared at him with a broad smile and he gave me a questioning look.

"That makes you the bride of the pack leader."

He was so surprised that he didn't react immediately. Then, his eyes changed tint and he took a step towards me. Instinctively, I took a step back to the exit, hesitating between laugh, fight back or run. Hannibal had a way of making me feel conflicting emotions, as if the old me was fighting against the new me. Of course, he always won at that game, but I didn't give it up easily.

He came closer and I moved back, bypassing the furniture. The dogs raised their eyes on us, evaluating the situation, and left the room, seeing that I wasn't in danger. Not really. As evidenced by the spontaneous erection squeezed into my trouser, when he moved forward as a predator.

My back ended up meeting a wall. I walked sideways to take refuge in the living room, and suddenly, he pushed me on the couch, before undressing and leaning on me. A shiver ran through my spine, when his lips fell on mine and his chest brushed against me. He removed my pants and underwear, and threw them away. No gentleness in his gestures.

With a thrust, I brought us down on the carpet. He absorbed the shock and wrapped his arms around me, kissing me again. His hands ran down my butt, grabbed it, held me tight, and I moaned against his mouth. He licked his fingers and slid them in me, opened me for him eagerly. Then, I pushed his hand away and impaled myself on his member with a slow motion. He put his palms on my hips to guide me and I leaned against his torso, moving gently until the pain disappeared. It was part of the game and I wasn't complaining.

His nails dug in my back, scratched my skin, and incited me to go faster, to surrender to his arms. So, I lowered all my barriers. Lost in his eyes full with desire, I let him penetrate me and sink himself deeply into my body, my heart, my soul. He let me find my rhythm, use him for my pleasure, then he reversed our positions with a strong thrust. The shock against the floor was hard, he gripped my shoulders to take me passionately, getting a needy moan out of me, and I arched my back on the carpet.

He took my wrists together with a hand, blocked them above my head, buried his nose on my neck and bit the lobe of my ear. Then, he grabbed my eager cock, stroked it skillfully, and brought me up to the edge, before slowing down and doing it again, over and over. Frustrated, I sunk my teeth in his throat and bruised the sensitive skin. In response, he tightened his hand, took me harder, and I came with the exquisite taste of his blood on my tongue. He released my wrists, accelerated the pace, ruined me, broke me apart, and pushed me further than I ever dreamed possible. I clung to his forearms, his sweaty chest, his soaked back, his firm ass, and I licked red drops on his neck, unable to control my voice.

The friction against the carpet burned my shoulder blades and scraped my skin, when he lifted up my hips to push deeper in me. I slid my hands through his hair, ravaged his lips, drank his moans, and he came in my body, tensed muscles and tongue melded with mine. Then, he put his cheek on my heart and relaxed, nestled against my chest, and I took him in my arms.

"I'm dying of thirst," I whispered huskily.

Without a word, he stood up and disappeared in the kitchen. I sat up straight with difficulty, leaning back to the couch, and stretched my legs. I heard the fridge door and glasses clink, then he moved in another room, some water flowed into a bowl, and he came back with a bottle, a basin and a washcloth. He put them on the floor and sat next to me. While I quenched your thirst, he soaked the cloth in the water and cleaned my belly. I relaxed by the gentle touch, exhausted but satisfied.

"You have to eat something. Get dressed and come sit down at the table. Lunch is almost ready," he said, before kissing me.

"Okay, go ahead, I'm coming," I answered.

He put his trousers on and went back in the kitchen. Soon, I perceived the comforting noise of his knife on the cutting board.


End file.
